


Princess

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 105,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: Alternate universes are fun.What if Betazed had not joined the Federation, and kept not joining until their terms were met?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silverfairy22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverfairy22/gifts).



> Briefly, to set the stage for this alternate universe:
> 
> Betazed has long resisted Federation membership. The Federation doesn't know much about them as a result. Only what the Betazoids have told them.
> 
> Deanna's mother met Ian when he was part of a diplomatic effort to change Betazed's collective mind about it.
> 
> Lwaxana died attempting to save her older daughter from drowning, so Ian raised Deanna on his own, on Betazed. She did not obtain a degree in psychology nor have a desire to be in Starfleet -- she stepped into a minor governmental office, proved that she has keen negotiation skills assisted by her empathy, and then successfully negotiated treaties with worlds both outside and inside the Federation, individually.

"We are going to Betazed," Picard announced to his gathered senior staff. They all sat around the table in the observation lounge, meeting to discuss their next mission. He noticed shock in several faces, as was expected. All of them were seasoned officers, all of them likely knew the history of the Federation's rocky relationship with the planet Betazed.

Riker sat up straighter at the news. "What?"

"Haven't they said no several dozen times to Federation membership, and aren't there other planets that actually want it?" Yar asked.

Picard steepled his fingers in front of him on the end of the table. "Yes, and yes. However. They have an asset that the Federation hopes we will convince to assist us in ending the war with the Cardassians."

Yar nodded in appreciation. "I heard the Betazoids are interested in negotiating peace with them as well, but they've been hesitant about it."

"Something to do with the Cardassian habit of opening fire or torturing envoys when they are displeased," Riker added darkly.

Picard stood and began to pace along the viewports. "We're being tasked with this as we've experienced battle with the Cardassians before. Admiral Fitzgerald would like us to succeed without resorting to that, however. It's believed that the _Enterprise_  will be powerful enough to make them hesitate in attacking, hopefully long enough to let a diplomatic effort succeed. And with the help of Deanna Troi, we may have the edge this time."

" _The_  Deanna Troi? Isn't she royalty?" Dr. Crusher asked. 

"There is no royalty on Betazed, Doctor," Data said smoothly. "Though apparently there is a history of aristocracy."

"They call her the princess, though," Yar said, exchanging a look with the doctor. 

"We will call her whatever she wishes to be called," Riker said, with a hint of scolding. 

"Of course, Number One. The admiral sent along information from the Betazoid delegation, to be certain we provide accommodations appropriately." Picard shoved a padd across the table to his first officer.

"I'll see to it, sir."

"So the mission is to convince this Deanna Troi that she should help us convince the Cardassians to end the war," Yar said. "I have to wonder what we could possibly do to change her mind, if no one else has managed to do that. Wouldn't the admiral just call and ask her?"

"She wouldn't even speak to the admirals. She insisted that the Federation Council send representatives to meet her in person," Picard said. "Apparently Betazoids prefer meeting face to face -- most of the Federation's contact with them via subspace is not direct. They send brief messages affirming or denying that they will speak to someone, and demand that all significant communication be between individuals, not over subspace."

"Quirky," LaForge muttered. It drew a chiding look from Riker. 

"If there are no other questions." Picard gave them a nod. "Dismissed. Mr. Crusher, set course for Betazed, warp six."

Wesley snapped out a crisp "yes, sir" as he popped up and followed Yar out of the room. LaForge, Data, and Crusher quickly did the same. Riker remained in his chair at Picard's left hand, eyeing him with questioning eyes.

"I know, Number One, but it's what we've been ordered to do," he said wearily.

"It sounds like a fool's errand, after the long string of failures of actual diplomats," Riker said. "Have you reviewed the reports?"

"Oh, yes. I think there must be something missing however. Ambassador after ambassador reporting that they believed they were making good progress, that the Betazoids are friendly and pleasant, excellent hosts, very easy to talk to and presenting with smiles all around, very peaceful and agreeable -- until talk about actual treaties and agreements starts. They don't want to send anyone to the Academy. They don't want to sit on the Council. They are open to trade of goods, but hesitate to allow anyone free access to their world as so many member worlds do. The same sticking points over and over. Followed by the firm 'no' when our representative asks them to consider simply signing off on allowing their citizens to make individual choices, on those matters." Picard looked tired just thinking about trying to talk to these people about it. He ran a hand over his bald head and sighed.

"We've managed to do the impossible before, sir."

"It will certainly be interesting enough to try, Number One. I have a feeling about this one."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not making up Beta Zeta, it's what it says in Memory Alpha.

They arrived in the Beta Zeta system without complications, and were directed into a standard orbit by the planetary defense system. The Betazoid fleet was small, and the individual vessels nothing like the _Enterprise_. Tasha's assessment confirmed what Picard had been told; Betazed was not strongly defended. 

"I have to wonder that they haven't been conquered by now," Riker muttered, staring at the beautiful blue and green orb on the viewer. "Resource rich, weak military, and they're sitting out here by themselves without allies -- the Klingons are a few days at warp away, the Cardassians a week away in the other direction."

"The Klingons disdain them. But you're correct, it does make one question -- there are some rich deposits of important ores, and a dilithium mine on their second moon." Picard watched a small ellipsoid vessel drift across in front of them. 

"Maybe they have a secret weapon," Wesley joked from the helm.

It got a chuckle from Riker, but Picard thought there might be something to that. He filed that thought away for the moment. "We should be contacted shortly."

"Sir," Yar exclaimed. "We're being instructed to move into a geostationary orbit above their capital city, Rixx. We're being given coordinates."

"Pass them along to Mr. Crusher. Anything else, Lieutenant?"

"Just to hold position and wait for further instructions, sir."

Picard raised his eyebrows and looked at Will, who was doing the same. "Acknowledge and confirm. We're waiting."

"Maybe she is a princess," Will said under his breath. 

"Patience, Number One. This is diplomacy. Be diplomatic."

Will rolled his eyes, settled back, and propped an ankle on his knee, slumping. 

"Commander," Picard growled.

"This is me, waiting."

"We're now in a geostationary orbit in the provided coordinates, sir," Wesley announced.

"Sir, we're being hailed by a vessel that's launching from the surface," Yar sang out. "Requesting permission to board."

Riker shot to his feet. Picard rose in a more leisurely manner. He turned to look up at his security chief. "Any more information?"

"It's the _Zelbinian_ , a trans-orbital shuttle," Yar said. "They are bringing a single person -- Governor Deanna Troi."

"So much for waiting. Come along, Number One. Mr. Data, you have the bridge."

They entered the shuttle bay as the vessel approached the force field. The bullet shaped shuttle came to rest neatly on the grid on the shuttle bay floor, between two of the _Enterprise_  shuttles. The door on the side opened silently, and Picard stepped forward with Riker at his left shoulder, anticipating the appearance of their guest. 

The door stood open, giving them a view of a patch of the bright light of the shuttle bay on a pale green carpet. Then a tall man stepped out, stepped to the right of the door, and came to attention. He wore a sidearm strapped across his chest, and a white uniform with teal piping on the sleeves. He stared at them placidly.

Picard took a step forward, about to say something, but movement within the shuttle stopped him -- a woman. The woman, he supposed. She wore an elaborate outfit in shimmering, sheer layers that was difficult to label -- it appeared to be a flowing full-length dress with a fitted waist. A sheer long-sleeved overshirt seemed to float over the top of a green tank top. Her hair was amazing; dark curls piled high, with more curls tumbling down behind her to her waist, put up with combs or clips adorned with gemstones in all colors in some elaborate style. She stepped down and stood there staring at them as if assessing them carefully.

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard," he said with a polite, subdued smile. "This is my first officer, Commander William Riker. Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_."

She smiled, raised a hand, took a step forward. "Deanna Troi. I am one of the governors of Betazed. Daughter of the Fifth House, holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, heir of the Holy Rings of Betazed. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Picard shook her hand -- from the way she held it she intended to greet him with the traditional Terran handshake, he assumed. "We've made all the arrangements as you requested. I hope that you find everything satisfactory. Would you prefer a tour of the ship, or can we show you to your suite?"

"I would like to see your vessel now," she said, her pleasant smile now continuous. "My staff will see my things to the suite."

"Commander Riker will -- " Picard turned and bumped into Riker, who for some reason wasn't paying any attention and stood there like a post. "Accompany your staff to your suite," Picard finished, shooting a glare at his officer. "If you will come with me?"

"Sorry, sir," Riker muttered, stepping aside. "Yes, sir."

Picard held out an arm, gesturing toward the exit, and fell in step with her as she complied. It wasn't difficult; she wasn't tall, was slightly shorter than he in fact. As they left the shuttle bay he started to move right toward the nearest turbolift, and it startled him when she turned with him immediately, not the slightest hesitation.

"Is there a set order to a tour of a starship? I saw how very large it is from the shuttle. I'm afraid that I will be tired long before we finish," she said. Her accent was interesting. It reminded him of a British accent, somewhat.

"We will be taking a turbolift to most destinations. It minimizes the effort quite a lot. And if you wish to rest at any point, we can resume the tour later. My crew and I are at your disposal." He led her into the lift, turning to face the door, noticing that she did so as well in perfect synchronization. It made him wonder if Betazoids were socially conditioned to ride in lifts facing forward as well. Then to wonder if they had lifts -- there were civilizations that never built multi-storied buildings, after all. But there were other questions to ask. He told the computer to take them to the bridge, then asked, "In the information that the admiral forwarded, it was not specified -- what would you prefer to be called?"

"On Betazed I am given the honorific _Tierca_. You are not one of our constituents, however. How do you refer to people?"

"It depends. If you were in Starfleet I would refer to you by rank. If we were on Earth... well. There are many languages on Earth. But I would call you Miss Troi, or if you were married it would be Mrs. Troi. In my native language, Mademoiselle."

"You have separate terms based on whether a person is married or not?" she asked, frowning a little. "That seems odd to me."

"A relic of less evolved times. Gender once mattered more than it does now. Marital status as well." The door opened on the bridge, and he let her exit first -- and realized he'd adhered to that less evolved habit that his habitually-archaic father had taught him. He stepped out after her and turned to Yar. "Allow me to introduce the bridge officers. This is our tactical station, and this is Lieutenant-Commander Tasha Yar, our security chief."

"Commander Yar," Deanna said with a nod and a smile. Tasha returned the smile, and bowed slightly.

Picard introduced her around the bridge, to the person and to their station, skipping Riker -- but as they turned from the helm where Wes continued to sit staring with that obvious appreciation common to very young hormonal humans, Will Riker came to his feet and stepped forward.

"Your luggage, and your staff, are waiting for you in your suite on deck five," he said in formal, clipped tones.

"Thank you, Commander." Troi smiled at him, and as with everyone she'd spoken to so far, received a similar bright smile in return from the first officer. Then she turned to Picard once more. "What should we see next? And would there be an opportunity to have something to drink?"

"This way," Picard said, leading the way into the ready room. He gestured at the sofa and asked, "What would you like to drink?"

"Please give me something that you like. I'd like to try something new."

"You may regret that." He crossed the room to duck into the alcove, and replicated two cups of tea. He made hers one of Beverly's preferred brews, a green tea with a teaspoon of honey, and brought the cups back to the couch. She took the tea from him carefully.

"It smells good. What is it called?"

"Tea. Specifically green tea -- there are many kinds."

"Yes, yours smells quite different." She sipped cautiously and nodded. "I like it. Perhaps a little sweet for my taste."

"I think you may have been on a starship before," he said, balancing his Earl Grey on a knee.

Troi went still, her head coming up slightly, and appraised him anew. After a moment of silent consideration she said, "It's been a few years since the last delegation from the Federation came here. But yes, I did tour the vessel at that time."

"When I introduced my staff you weren't using their full rank -- you were using the less formal but still correct commander, for the lieutenant-commanders."

Her amused smile was breathtaking. It put lights in her eyes and a slight flush on her cheeks, and she laughed. "You're very observant, Captain."

"One doesn't survive while abroad in the universe without paying attention. I also read the previous reports of other envoys, they mention meeting you. And no doubt you've been sent my dossier as well."

"I have some information. Words in a report are never the same as knowing the person." She took another mouthful of tea.

"Why do Betazoids resist communicating by subspace?"

She spent another few minutes looking at him with a hint of suspicion. "We want to know who we are speaking to. There is no way to have a sense of the person when all you have is a picture on a screen. Communication is much more meaningful in person."

"I agree, however, at times expediency is the preference. So what do you think of our ship so far?"

"It's magnificent, of course. As these sorts of things go -- powerful, fast -- your ensign said warp nine, which is so much faster than our fleet."

He smiled at that. It was obvious she was not impressed by such things and being polite. "Do you want to continue the tour?"

She blinked and her smile wavered. "You are not like the other humans I have met."

Picard set aside his empty cup. "I'm not?"

"It's often been observed that humans can be less forthcoming, especially if they are intending to negotiate for something. You seem to be responding to me, rather than adhering to protocol."

"I simply don't believe in boring someone to death in the name of diplomacy."

"How do you know I'm not interested in your ship?"

"You haven't asked a single question about any of it, as you met each of my senior staff."

Another broad smile was his reward. "If we are dispensing with the usual formalities, perhaps you would answer a question?"

"It depends upon the question."

"You said that I would be a miss or a mrs, depending upon my marital status. What would I call a man, in either case?"

Picard was surprised at that. "In either case, the honorific is mister."

"How odd. Why so specific for women?"

"Terran cultures were by and large very concerned about differences in status -- in maintaining an illusion that some were inherently weaker or inferior. Whether it was a racial difference, or a difference in gender. Or age, at times."

She nodded, and leaned to place her cup next to his. Folding her hands in her lap, she considered this further. "On Betazed we don't use gender specific terms for each other. Actually we don't call it Betazed, either. That was a name given to us by the Federation."

"Oh," he exclaimed. "I was not aware of that -- what name should we use?"

"There isn't one. It's merely our home, and we haven't felt a need to call it anything. When I return I will go to Rixx, where my home is." She grinned again. "You can call it Betazed if you wish. I know that at times It's important to distinguish between one world and another. We don't often speak of other worlds here."

"I've been curious about that, actually," he began, then hesitated to start down that road. But she knew he was withholding something, now, and rather than compromise the rapport he sighed and composed a measured response. "The Federation has hundreds of member worlds. Nearly a thousand, now. Your planet is surrounded by them. We don't make demands of our member worlds, we merely have the expectation that people are all treated with equal respect and accorded the rights and privileges guaranteed by Federation law. Making Starfleet and other options available to your population isn't expected, it's an opportunity they have, if they wish to take it." He noticed her expression then. "Am I perhaps misunderstanding something?"

"Nothing that has not been misunderstood before," she said. "Captain Fordham and an ambassador from some other world were here before. Neither one of them were so curious about this."

"Could you explain what it is I'm misunderstanding?"

She had the most unusual black-on-black eyes. When she gazed at him he could see his reflection in them. "We are not refusing to join the Federation because of your expectations or your rules. We are waiting for more than an invitation to a treaty."

"More than... I'm afraid I need more explanation than that. Forgive my obliviousness."

Troi looked down at her hands and once again, took some time to think. "We value relationships. A contract is not a relationship."

Rather than argue the point, Picard gave it a moment's thought. "What is a relationship?"

Again, she gazed at him with those deep, dark eyes. "What is a relationship to you?"

"We have many kinds of relationships. Different levels of intimacy. A contract is a codified relationship of sorts. But you mean... what a relationship is to me, personally?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"I don't know that I can answer that question. I have friends. Some of them are very close. I've never been married."

"If you think about the person you trust more than any of the others, what is your relationship with that person like?"

It left him at a loss. "Well...as you say. There is trust. My best friend died, some time ago, and I've yet to have one whom I trust so well."

Troi nodded as if she understood completely in spite of his less-than-descriptive summary. "It is a rare thing to find someone to trust so deeply."

"So what you are saying.... Your world needs to trust our Federation, to be willing to join it. And I would suppose that like any close friendship, there is no set procedure or prescribed task to earn such trust. Would it be too presumptuous to suggest that we might consider attempting a treaty with the Cardassians as a joint effort, during which we might become closer friends?"

Her canny smile told him that he was making progress. She stood abruptly. "Will you take me to my suite, Captain?"

"Certainly."

All eyes were on them, as they left the ready room and then the bridge. When they left the lift on deck five, he asked the computer and followed the lit indicators down the corridor to the third door on the left. When he would have stayed in the corridor to take his leave, she turned and met his eyes, forestalling his polite farewell. She raised an arm to gesture at the door, waving him in.

Inside there were two men, the armed fellow who had been on guard at the shuttle and a second one in a similar uniform. They came to their feet and stood at attention.

"You will return to Rixx and inform the council of governors that I will be traveling to assist the captain with his negotiation with the Cardassians," she said.

The two men nodded in strange synchrony, and marched from the room -- as the door closed behind them Picard turned to her with raised eyebrows.

"I appreciate your open honesty, Captain," she said. "You could have sidestepped, or given me vague truth, or simply said whatever you anticipated I wanted to hear. You could have done as previous Federation representatives have. I think we will be able to negotiate a cease fire, at the very least, if we work together. I thank you for your hospitality and your adherence to my requests. This suite will do very well for me."

"You are most welcome, Miss Troi," he said. "Would you care to join myself and the senior staff for dinner? It would be in five hours."

That seemed to cause her a moment of consternation. "I assume it will take some time to travel to the destination? Would we be able to dine together tomorrow? I'm accustomed to a different diurnal cycle than you, obviously."

It struck him finally that she had been speaking Standard since she'd come aboard. He had to refocus his attention quickly, stop being so startled, to answer her question. "Absolutely -- I understand completely, there are many time zones on Earth and I've experienced such difficulties myself. Please feel free to contact myself or the bridge if you need anything."

"Thank you, Captain. I do wonder why you found it startling, if you've experienced such a thing before."

"That wasn't... I simply realized just then that you've been speaking Standard and not your native language. Startling, to meet you, knowing you've had so little contact with the Federation and you speak it fluently."

Troi smiled ever so slowly, and inhaled deeply. "I'm very good with languages as most of us are. And my father was human. Lieutenant Ian Blackwell. He was the second officer of the _Journey_ , one of the first vessels to visit our world. He and my mother fell in love and he stayed here with her."

Picard blinked -- how had he not heard of this? "That was years ago," he said, as a second realization struck him.

"Fifty-seven of your years ago, yes. I was born seven years later."

"Oh," he blurted, narrowly avoiding a protest that it couldn't be so. She barely looked twenty, to his eyes.

"Would you care for something to drink, Captain? I've neglected to notice that our roles are reversed," she said, moving toward the replicator along the wall opposite the door.

"I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience, if you wish to rest. I -- "

"Earl Grey, hot," she said, then watched the cup appear. She turned with it cradled in both hands and brought it to him. Disbelieving, as he'd not ordered it verbally in the ready room, he took it slowly.

"Thank you," he said incredulously.

"Computer, Orange Pekoe, half teaspoon of sugar, hot," she said as she returned to the slot. "Are you a reader of literature, Captain?"

"Actually, I do enjoy a good book. I've read many simply out of historical curiosity -- the works of Shakespeare were a major influence on many cultures on Earth."

"My father brought quite a few with him, when he left Starfleet. While I've read many of them over the years there are still many I haven't yet. My most recent indulgence has been a very old one -- _The Bridge of San Luis Rey_." She sat down at the very middle of the long crescent-shaped sofa and gazed up at him expectantly.

Picard sat, one cushion away from her and carefully holding his tea in front of him. "I believe I've read it. But long ago. It was a famous novel, about religion and the intrinsic value of an individual person."

"Religion is an interesting concept to us," Troi said. "We do not have religious belief in our history. I am experiencing difficulty understanding the context of the book."

So began a discussion of religion, an attempt to help someone with no context for a complex topic understand it. It was challenging, difficult, and eventually he did excuse himself when she actually looked tired, after two cups of tea and two and a half hours. Picard went back to the bridge to give the order to leave orbit, head for Cardassian borders, and went to his ready room to contact the admiral.

Fitz stared at him from his monitor when he told him the news. "You mean to tell me that you've managed to convince her to go with you in less than a day? Are you serious? Jean-Luc, what did you do?"

"I'm not sure what made such a difference, Fitz. I'm sure that everyone who's come here has spoken to them with great tact and respect, I'm certainly no different."

"Well, whatever it is you're doing, good job. We'll contact the Cardassians and arrange a meeting. They will of course meet with us as they've done before. Is she as good a negotiator as they say, do you think?"

"Our discussion so far has been more friendly than persuasive, but I have a hunch that she'll be quite effective."

"Good. I'll be in touch when I have a time and a place. Thank you, Jean-Luc."

The screen went dark. Picard sat pondering, then asked for a text version of _The Bridge of San Luis Rey_ and started to read. It was a short book and he was half through it when the annunciator went off.

"It's the end of shift, sir," Will Riker said as he came in. "I've been half expecting a formal dinner for our guest."

"She asked to postpone it, as she's trying to adjust to our schedule. The admiral is arranging a meeting with the Cardassians. He was surprised that we'd succeeded."

"So am I, frankly, after reading the reports of past failures. What did you say to her?"

Picard had been racking his brain about that himself. "She had questions about our culture. It was not unlike other diplomatic encounters -- what I'm having trouble seeing is how everyone else failed. Surely they would have answered questions as I have, had the questions been asked. There's something missing."

Will stepped over the back of a chair and dropped into it. "Maybe she simply likes you better than the last guy," Riker said, with a quirk of a smile.

"In any case, plan for a formal dinner for the senior staff tomorrow evening. She's indicated that she would like to attend. I've instructed her to contact the bridge if she requires anything, though I doubt that she will -- she's quite conversant with the computer already." He stopped short of telling the rest -- he balked at revealing her mixed parentage without permission, and since he wasn't certain how open she might be about it with his crew, he decided to keep it to himself.

"She's absolutely beautiful," Riker exclaimed.

"Will," Picard said, chiding.

"I know, I know, but the regulation doesn't keep her from approaching me," Riker said with a smirk. Starfleet didn't approve of the seduction of diplomatic envoys or first contacts.

"No," Picard had to admit. "I suspect that she will be more focused on the task at hand, however."

"We'll probably have a good week or so of travel time. Maybe she'll want to finish a tour of the ship. Geordi mentioned you hadn't gotten down to engineering today."

Picard smiled at that. "Maybe."  Rising, he gave his uniform a tug. "See you in the morning, Number One. I'm going to settle in with a good book."


	3. Chapter 3

The order was received -- they were on course for Serona Four, a world outside Federation borders on the fringes of Cardassian territory.

"Serona has no native population," Picard said, in the staff meeting. He had invited their guest to the meeting but she was not present and hadn't responded. "The Cardassians have selected a world they are intending to colonize as a rendezvous point. Mr. Data, what information do we have on this system?"

"Starfleet has data accumulated prior to the Cardassian Empire's expansion to the area, conducted by probes seventy-two years ago," Data said. He paused to turn and look as the door opened -- and stared, as did the rest of the senior staff, as Deanna Troi made an entrance.

Today, she wore a dress that shimmered in many shades of green to blue, an effect that made Picard wonder if there weren't some sort of mechanism to project the colors into the material. It appeared that Betazoid fashion for high-ranking government officials trended to the extravagant. She hesitated, smiling at the assembled group seated around the table, and then Riker jumped up from his chair.

"Please have a seat," he exclaimed, gesturing at his own vacated chair to Picard's left. He tapped Data's shoulder, and gestured at everyone on his side of the table. Everyone moved a chair to their right in turn and then Riker took the one Data had been in.

Picard waited until she had come to settle in the vacated chair. "Good morning, Miss Troi. We were just reviewing the details about the meeting location."

"Good. Please continue." Troi folded her hands on the table in front of her and smiled at him.

"Mr. Data, please go on, if you would," Picard said.

"Yes, sir. The Serona system contains a G8 type star, with two asteriod belts, six planets, and three planetoids. The Cardassians have established a small orbital station between the orbits of the fourth and fifth planet, a Class III gas giant and an M class planet. None of the planets has sufficient atmosphere to support life at this time."

When Data paused briefly, Troi spoke up unexpectedly. "Where is this system in relation to Betazed?"

Data nodded and said, "Computer, display on monitor two the Serona system in relation to Beta Zeta."

The larger of the three monitors, centered on the wall behind Dr. Crusher and her son sitting on the opposite side of the table, came to life and displayed a segment of the galaxy, even including the position of the _Enterprise_ on its way from one to the other. Troi stared up at the star map for a bit.

"We explored that region long ago," she said at last. "That system was inhabited by the Fo'Na, a species who had established themselves in an area roughly four thousand parsecs in diameter, encompassing at least six other systems. The fourth planet had a population of approximately four million."

General shock, from the officers around her. Picard hadn't read anything that suggested Betazoids were interstellar explorers to that degree, and it was surprising to him that she knew so much about it. Riker said, "I wonder what happened to make it uninhabitable?"

Troi huffed a little, glanced sideways at Riker -- though it was doubtful the first officer noticed her expression. "The most likely explanation would be that their expansion was perceived to be a threat, and the system was taken by the Cardassians. Is there any history of Starfleet contact with the Fo'Na?"

"Computer, give us information about the Fo'Na," Data said.

"No information on file," the computer announced.

There was a sadness in Troi's eyes as she looked down at the glossy surface of the table. Picard knew the feeling -- he sympathized, as there had been occasions where he had also been confronted with an injustice committed against innocents, and as he thought about what he could say she met his gaze and held it -- her serious expression seemed to indicate understanding. She turned again to the map, and seemed to be studying it carefully.

"What is the nearest inhabitable system within the Federation?" she asked.

"That would be the Shezonn system," Data said. "It contains a Federation colony, a starbase and several mining operations."

"Is there a facility there that could be used for our negotiations within that system?"

"Do you believe we could persuade the Cardassians to meet us there instead?" Riker asked. He sounded dubious.

Troi turned to look directly at Riker. Picard couldn't see her face, but Riker's reaction, leaning away from her slightly and blinking in surprise, suggested she might be angry. She sounded quite calm and cool, however. "No. I believe we should give them three options.  We give them an option of the Serona system, if we are allowed to bring four starships. The Shezonn system, where we can have as many Starfleet vessels as we like, and they can bring four ships. Or we can each send a ship to the unallied system, Imarin, where the Imarins are independent of both factions and their military might can easily quash any untoward behavior on either side. Imari is neither Federation nor Cardassian, and it would take a day at their top speed of their fastest warship for them to get there. Likewise for the Federation."

Another round of shock, for the Starfleet officers. Picard knew the Imarins were like Betazed, resistant to treaties and even to contact from outside. "The Imarins would allow this?"

Troi turned back to him. "The Federation may believe they are xenophobic. They are not. My government has a trade agreement with them, and we are what you would term 'friendly.' They do not see a need for formal contracts. Since the Federation prefers formal terms to inter-species relationships, the Imarin prefer to have no contact with them."

"You have asked the Imarins for permission already?"

Troi's even, composed expression could have been interpreted as arrogance. "The Imarins are as interested in peace as we are. There are no reasons for them to fear either the Federation or the Cardassian Empire, as they could easily defeat either or both of you in a war. But they do want to avoid unnecessary conflict, and their home system is in proximity to both sides so a widespread conflict between you is not something they desire. I communicated with them as recently as last week and know that they are concerned about increasing violence along their borders."

Picard and Riker exchanged a look, and Picard nodded to Troi, smiling again. "We should discuss this with Admiral Fitzpatrick, since he is directly communicating with the Cardassian government on our behalf. Commander Yar, would you get us an open channel to Command? You are all dismissed. Miss Troi, would you be willing to join me in the ready room to speak with the admiral?"

"Of course," she said at once.

Everyone rose to their feet and headed for the door. Riker lingered for a few seconds but Picard gave him a look that sent him along. Troi fell in step with Picard and accompanied him across the bridge without a word, and took a seat in front of his desk as he went behind it.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, as he repositioned the monitor to have a broader field of vision to include her.

"As well as I can under the circumstances. It's often difficult in a new place. But I was doing some research, on what your computer has stored about the Cardassians. The Federation has not successfully negotiated with them before, I gather."

"Yes, well, they tend to be less forthcoming than many and it's been difficult to build a relationship with any of them. Each encounter has been with a different individual. There is either an effort on their part to never allow us to see the same people twice, or they have an incredible rate of turnover. Here we are," he exclaimed as the monitor came to life, first displaying the Starfleet logo and then flicking to a live feed of Admiral Fitzgerald.

"Good morning Admiral," Picard said. "We have been discussing the meeting with the Cardassians, and some suggestions have been made. This is Deanna Troi. She believes we would be more successful if we modified our approach to the negotiation."

"A pleasure to meet you, Governor Troi," Fitzgerald exclaimed, straightening up a little in surprise. "I'm very interested to hear your recommendations."

Troi sat stiffly at attention and outlined her suggestion as she had in the meeting, in her pleasant even manner. "The Imarins are not inclined to be what you might consider an ally. However, they welcome efforts to maintain peace on their borders. They are also familiar with the Cardassians as a people -- their military exceeds the Cardassians' level of technology as well as their firepower, and they are not inclined to tolerate violence within their borders."

"The Federation has had several contacts with the Imarins, none of them violent," Fitzgerald said. "They rejected our offer of membership without giving a reason."

"That would be consistent with their interactions with anyone," Troi said with a smile. "Some species do not value formal affiliations. Betazed has an excellent relationship with them and I can say that their leaders will accept this arrangement. If you accept it, I can contact them and inform them."

The admiral paused -- a rather noticeable one, and his expression was clearly forced to neutral. Picard felt uncomfortable with his obvious prevarication. "I will discuss this with Admiral Wallace and Admiral Sovar. Thank you, Governor, for your assistance -- I am hoping this results in improved relationships with all concerned."

The screen went dark. Picard looked across the desk, and she met his eyes with amused glints in her own.

"It appears we have some time for tea," he said. "Orange Pekoe?"

"Yes."

When they were facing each other again with tea in hand, he said, "Have you finished reading your book? I read most of it last night, out of curiosity."

She was less stiff, as she responded with a happy smile. "I did finish it, yes. I am particulary fond of the last lines."

"I should finish the book, you're saying."

"Or I can tell you what it says in the last lines. _Soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."_

He considered it carefully, not wanting to make a hasty reply and be misunderstood. "That sounds consistent with what I have read so far. A concise summary of the general theme, I think."

"What a circumspect response, so carefully considered," she replied. "Factual."

It took him aback, and after a moment he realized she was teasing him. Shrugging, sheepish, he gestured vaguely. "Yes, well, I have never claimed to know much about love. But it is good literature, just the same. The human race has millions of books and poems on the subject of love, and still it remains a matter of debate -- resisting all attempts to quantify or describe it."

"That is because we are all individually too small to see anything but a small part of what love is," she said, as if stating the obvious. "It requires a larger perspective than a single mind is capable of comprehending."

"There are theories -- humans have historically held theories of a larger awareness. Jung, for example, had a theory about a collective unconscious, that all humans had an innate sense of that guided them. Do Betazoids have such theories?"

He had intended something similar to their discussion the previous evening, but she now had a knowing smile that gave him pause. "No," she said softly.

"No?"

She gazed down into her cup, clearly thinking, but she wasn't on guard or appraising him as she had before. "You have a theory about Betazoids. How do you inform this theory?"

"Everything I know has been second-hand, until I met you. But this is how we all start to learn, is it not? Passing along information accumulated by others is the heart of education, on our world. Being able to collect and assimilate information gathered in centuries prior keeps us evolving."

"You use the written word, primarily, to pass along information," she said.

"A great many civilizations do so. Are you suggesting that you do not?"

Troi looked weary and almost despairing, and he wondered why. "We do, for some things. Have you ever encountered phenomena that resisted being explained in such a manner. Something that your language has no terminology to describe, concepts or experiences that are beyond the comprehension of humans?"

"I've been in Starfleet all my life. Since I was seventeen -- in space, since I was twenty. There have been times that I have been unable to adequately describe some experience I have had, yes. There are entities and species that have tested the limits of my vocabulary and my understanding -- I cannot claim to have a complete grasp of some of the things I've been through, or seen. I had to attempt to report them, of course."

"Were any of those experiences in the realm of nonverbal communication?"

Picard once again experienced a wave of shock and the sinking feeling in the gut that usually accompanied the transition of a hunch to a well-informed theory. "Some were. It occurs to me that you may be under a general prohibition to fully inform us of certain attributes of your species, that may well be considered tactical advantages."

Now she was smiling with appreciation -- possibly even affection, though he hesitated to label it so. "Would it be the same for you? Or perhaps there are other reasons the officers I have met are so reticent to speak their mind?"

"No prohibitions have been placed upon me, other than the ones Starfleet imposes to protect classified information. Humans are often less forthcoming for other reasons, primarily related to social mores. Many of us value privacy -- personal information is usually reserved for those who are close to me, others are less reserved, still others more so. It's a personal preference."

As he spoke she was less and less amused. Contemplating him soberly, she left her empty cup on the edge of his desk and looked down for a minute. "I wonder if you were not so dedicated to your duty if you would be so forthcoming with me."

Picard stared at her in speechless dismay. He couldn't muster his thoughts to answer that. She stared at the floor and a long silence ensued.

At long last, he gathered his thoughts, calming himself as much as he could. "If I were not constrained by the mission, and the fact that there are prohibitions against -- if you were not a diplomatic envoy and I were not a Starfleet officer, I think that I might be more inclined to -- "

Her eyes came up to meet his suddenly, and he lost the power to speak. "You are suggesting that you have been prohibited from cultivating a more personal relationship with me?"

"It wasn't always that way," he said. "But Starfleet has had problems with missions where officers have had... less formal relations with other species. There have been occasions where an officer took advantage of someone, and misunderstandings ensued, and...."

Troi was confused to the point that her carefully-shaped brows drew together. "Took advantage?"

"Humans have a -- forgive me, I'm not accustomed to discussing this. It doesn't often come up in this context. It was once the case that officers were not specifically trained in relations with other species, and there were cases of sexual contact in the middle of first contact situations."

It was obvious that he was speaking to a diplomat with plenty of practice in dealing with other cultures. "Sexual contact before there is understanding can result in offense -- if one party does not understand that the other is engaging in sexual activities. Not every species will have the same definition of sexual behavior. So your regulations prohibit you from initiating sexual contact without developing an understanding with the one you -- no?"

He was shaking his head. "No. The other has to express interest before an officer could even approach the topic with them."

"Oh," she blurted, clearly surprised. "I wonder if this was the rule when my father met my mother."

"It very likely was."

"Yar to captain," came the inevitable summons. "I have Admiral Fitzgerald for you, sir."

"Put him through, thank you," Picard exclaimed, turning to his monitor.

The admiral smiled out at them from the instant he appeared. "It has been decided that you should proceed as you have proposed, in fact you have permission to contact the Cardassians yourself from this point forward. In the best interests of expediency. I have no doubt you will succeed in this, Captain."

"Thank you, Admiral. We'll do our best." When the monitor went dark again, Picard sighed. "From too anxious to let us handle it, to this."

"We should contact the Imari, then the Cardassians."

He nodded, and noticed her expression change again. They looked at each other and he wasn't sure what to say, again, but at least there wasn't as much anxiety in the silence. Then it occurred to him.

"I would like to clarify something," he said, suddenly feeling optimistic.

"Yes?"

"You're telepathic."

She looked at the floor, appearing for the first time to be shy. "The simple answer would be yes. The complete truth requires more explanation."

"Your father had to have explained most of what I've explained to you already."

"Not everything, no. We did not have discussions of why Earth cultures were prone to misogyny and racism, nor did we discuss Starfleet regulations in much depth."

Picard leaned on his desk, folding his hands. "I wonder if you were approaching me in a manner that you perceived I would be able to accept your probing into my personal information -- marital status, my views on various topics, my stance on the possibility of more personal contact with you. Without entirely giving away that you were doing so, in order to avoid compromising your ability to participate in the mission, in the event that you discovered that I had... misgivings."

Troi smiled at him in that manner that he had to admit to himself was affectionate. "Yes."

"Was this an example of how you negotiate?"

She closed her eyes, shook her head. "These words that you use. I speak to people in a manner that I believe will result in a successful relationship with them, whether the kind of relationship I seek is formally proscribed, or personal. The actual nature of the relationship being formed is determined by consensus between the two of us. I don't decide what I want and pursue that end, I allow the relationship to develop and try not to anticipate."

"Probably a wise thing to do, given that you have known me for all of a day. I might not be entirely trustworthy, you know."

That made her laugh - a soft, delighted chuckle that accompanied a warm smile. "I think that you may be the most honest human I have met."

"I suspect you may not have met very many of us. We should contact the Imari."

That only deepened her smile. "I agree. I will need to give your officer a specific frequency and make contact myself, I doubt your translator will do their language any good."

He rose as she did, and came around the desk. She slowed, and he hesitated with her, curious, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Are we dining with your officers tonight as you mentioned yesterday?"

"That was the plan, if you are still amenable to doing so."

"I wanted to ask, while I was thinking about it, beforehand -- would you be able to ensure that I am seated between you and someone other than your first officer?"

Picard frowned. "I can," he said, suspicious.

"It isn't anything he has done," she continued. "It's that I can tell how he feels -- I'm better at reading emotions than I am with actual thoughts. It would be easier to have benign and friendly conversation with any of the others. And I would also like to move from the current suite to one in section four, if that would not be an inconvenience."

That made part of the instructions they'd received prior to her arrival make sense. "You wanted accommodations as far from those of crew as possible because their emotions can be distracting for you?"

That won him the happiest smile yet. "You may also be the most perceptive human I have ever met."

"I would respond with superlatives in return, but as you're the only Betazoid I've met, I'm afraid it would lack impact."

"That's all right. You don't need to say anything," she said, turning for the door. It gave him pause, but he followed her out.

"Commander Yar," he exclaimed, looking to Tasha standing at her post at the back of the bridge. "Please give Miss Troi access to communications."

Troi went up the bridge as he gave the order, coming to stand next to the security chief. "I need you to adjust the frequency slightly. I will need you to turn off the universal translator for the conversation, as well."

"Just a moment, ma'am," Yar exclaimed, tapping away on the console. Troi frowned, but said nothing. Picard stood and watched, rather than going to his seat, and Will stood up as well to look back and up at their guest.

When she started to speak again, Troi rattled off a long series of clicks, wails and squeaks that startled them. After a moment she got a response, and a conversation ensued, lasting nearly ten minutes. Then she nodded to Yar. "Thank you, Commander."

"No problem," Tasha said with a smile.

Troi came down the bridge and nodded to him. "Tet'tik'lit said that he will have a suitable facility ready for our use. Since your admiral did not provide the name of a specific Cardassian, do you know who we are to contact?"

"Open a channel to the _Bremmo_ ," he ordered, shooting a glance at Riker.

"Oh, well," Troi said laconically. "That would be Gul Tramet. Of course."

"Anything we should know?" Riker asked.

"I have a visual as well as audio," Yar announced. "Gul Tramet."

"On screen," Picard said, turning to the main viewer.

The gul standing in the center of the viewer was standing in a dimly-lit room. He was smiling, but as Troi stepped up to stand next to Picard, the smiled faded somewhat. "Captain," he said coolly. "And the estimable _Tierca_ Troi, if I remember correctly."

"You do, Gul Tramet. _Kiba'avzayn."_

" _Kiba'avzayn."_ The stern reptilian bowed stiffly. "So you are also attending the meeting?"

"My apologies for the lack of notice," Troi said smoothly, taking another step forward. "I was not aware of the negotiation until the plans had been made. Starfleet has also been in negotiations with Betazed, as you may already know. But this is a separate matter -- we too are concerned about maintaining peace in the quadrant, we have watched the war progress with great trepidation, and I saw this as an opportunity to continue to build a relationship with the Cardassian Union."

At that the gul's smile thinned, until Picard thought that he must be gritting his teeth. "How fortunate."

"We can meet as Starfleet has arranged," Troi went on as if they were all going to a lovely party. "Along with four other Starfleet vessels - they do have some anxiety about the location, as you could guess. Or we could meet in the Shezonn system, of course you would be able to bring the same, four vessels, as you would of course have concerns. Or, we would meet at a neutral location -- the Imari have agreed to provide one of their orbital stations for the occasion. The _Enterprise_ and the _Bremmo_ would meet at the station and a small team from each vessel would transport in for the meeting. Which would you prefer, Gul Tramet?"

The Cardassian appeared to turn to stone the instant she mentioned the Imari. But he revealed nothing in his expression. "How fortunate, to have such resources at your disposal -- I accede to the benefit of a neutral location. We will happily change course for Imaris. Has the meeting time changed as well?"

Troi turned to Picard. "Mr. Crusher," Picard said, "How long will it take to arrive in the Imarin system at present speed?"

"Three days, six hours, fourteen minutes, sir."

Tramet nodded stiffly. "We shall see you in three days. _Nobot."_

 _"Nobot-tyvzayn,"_ Troi replied warmly. 

The viewer went dark abruptly.

Riker turned to stare at Troi.

"Is something wrong, Commander?" she asked, looking back at him.

"I've never heard that greeting and farewell sequence before," Will said. "The last encounter we had with a Cardassian vessel we were greeted differently."

Troi pondered. "Was it _zyva'aan_ and _nobot_?"

"It was," Data said, turning his chair to face her. "Is that important?"

"It tells me that they have been treating you as inferiors," Troi said sadly. "Hierarchy is very much a part of Cardassian society -- everyone has their place, and subtleties of language matter."

"Then I suppose it's to our advantage to have someone who knows their subtleties," Picard said. "Thank you, Miss Troi."

"Query," Data said in puzzlement. "Why did Gul Tramet address you as he did, while Captain Picard does so in Standard with less formality?"

"Because how you are addressed has more meaning in some contexts, and less in others. With some people you know you are respected regardless of what they call you. With others, you know that they will not respect you unless you wear a label that they perceive requires their respect." Troi smiled down at the android. "Have you ever experienced a change in how you are addressed, Mr. Data?"

"When I was at the Academy I was referred to as the Tin Man," he said.

Picard did a double-take at that. Data had never talked about his time at the Academy, even when others were chatting about it. It hadn't really occurred to him to wonder why. He glanced at Troi, and she was already looking at him, sympathy in her eyes. She turned back to Data. "That does not sound like a flattering nickname."

"I do not believe that it does either. The cadets who were saying it were not being affectionate. There were at times episodes of what was called 'hazing.' I understand that it has been prohibited since 2352."

"Mr. Data," Picard interrupted, because if he didn't there would be a lengthy discourse on the history of the Academy. "Miss Troi has requested a relocation to another suite -- please assist her in this matter."

"Of course," Data exclaimed, rising from his seat. "I would be happy to help."

"Thank you, Captain," she said with a fond smile, then turned to follow the android to the turbolift.

Picard turned about to go to his chair, noticing that Riker was standing there watching their guest departing. After the lift closed he returned to his seat.

"I have a very good feeling about this negotiation, Number One," Picard said. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his first officer's expression.

"I'm sure the negotiation will go quite well, with her help," Will muttered.

"I'm hoping that this also results in a treaty with Betazed. I think we would definitely benefit from having them join Starfleet -- the advantages, to having someone who is so good at languages. We've known for a while that the universal translator doesn't always get all the nuances right away, it's clear that continues to be the case."

Riker said nothing, and seemed to be fuming. Perhaps, Picard thought, he had finally recognized her lack of interest in him. He suppressed a smile and resisted the urge to continue talking to him about Betazed. There would be ample opportunity over dinner, for such a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't make too many assumptions, now... ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In The Outcast (season five, episode 217) Riker nearly bails on Starfleet for a woman he meets who is actually a member of a species that do not have gender. 
> 
> Forgot to mention this alternate timeline is taking place late in the series, minus all the Troi centric episodes. Wes is also not Gene's Mary Sue, but took the mundane route of going to the Academy and returned as an ensign. And there are counselors on the larger starships, however, they aren't line staff -- we're not seeing them because they aren't officers.

Picard arrived in his private dining room to find the table set with white china, with minimal decoration -- a red runner ran down the table and complemented the gold edging on the plates. The furnishings had been rearranged, with a low table and comfortable burgundy chairs in the corner arranged around the table. Covered dishes had been placed on a long buffet near the door. He knew the menu, having approved it, so didn't lift any of the covers to check. He went to the smaller round drink table and poured himself a glass of water. The yeoman who had arranged everything must have left to change into formal dress.

When the door opened, he turned to find the doctor had arrived first. "Good evening," he said, as she approached. She wore the dress uniform as he did, and wore it better -- the long tunic was more flattering for some than for others.

"You look nice," Beverly said with a fond smile. "We don't get to pull these out of the closet very often, do we?"

"Some of us are less enthusiastic. It does so little to show off my thighs," he quipped, glancing down at the form-fitting pants. The hem of the tunic was nearly down to his knees.

Beverly laughed at it and brushed at the gold braid running from the right side of his throat to his left shoulder as if straightening it unnecessarily. She turned and poured herself a little wine, raising the glass to salute him. "To new friends."

"Yes, to new friends and old," he replied, raising his glass. They sipped together.

"You've been spending a lot of time with the young lady, haven't you?"

Picard smiled at that. "Not so young as you think. How old is your Dr. Selar?" Vulcans were another species that rarely looked their age, by human standards.

 "Oh." Beverly tilted her head. "So Betazoids age differently? How completely unfair."

"You really do not have so much to complain about, Beverly. Your adult son sits at the helm, after all."

"Flatterer," she sniped with a roll of her eyes. Glancing around the room, she sighed. "So she's not so young. And she seems to like you. You've already gotten her to reveal her age."

"Fishing isn't your sport."

She smirked at him. "She does. And you like her."

"And it matters to the mission not at all, and we have a job to do. And what do you know about this, having been in sickbay most of the time?"

"People talk. She came in last night, as well, and I was called in as she's an important guest. She was having difficulty sleeping. I asked her if she was enjoying her time aboard, if she liked the tour of the ship, and she said she'd not completed the tour and spent the time talking to you about human culture. We talked for a bit about that ourselves, since she asked if I was also from Earth." Beverly sipped the Riesling and smiled knowingly at him. "Having your usual effect on women, you suave devil."

"All I did was talk to her," he protested. "It's what diplomats do best, you know?" She was teasing him -- he could count the number of women he'd so much as kissed on one hand, since they'd been aboard the _Enterprise_.

"Oh, I know, believe me."

They both turned at the sound of the door -- Will Riker swept in, grinning, looking taller than ever in his dress uniform. "Glad to see I'm not late to the party. I've been looking forward to this all day."

"Not sure I'm going to be able to contain myself with all these fine gentlement in the room," Beverly said, turning away so Will couldn't see the mirth in her face and the eye roll. She wasn't fond of the dress uniforms, really. Will was tall and thin enough that the long tunic wasn't so flattering for him. It was something of an 'in' joke with the senior staff to compliment each other when they wore them.

"What are we having for dinner?" Will lifted the domed cover over the main course. "Smells great -- is this lamb?"

"Marbinian beef, in fact. Replicated, but it's quite good. Wine?" Picard waved at the beverage table.

"Ah, yes. Of course." Riker came over and plucked up the carafe of white wine, selected an empty glass, and poured himself some. "I'm guessing she'll make an entrance again?"

"I would suppose she will arrive when she's ready," Picard said, going to the head of the table to put down his water glass. He came back to pour himself some of the Zinfandel, which would be a better choice for the beef.

"So what have you learned about Betazoids that we didn't know before?" Riker turned with his glass in hand and surveyed the table, probably trying to figure out where he should sit.

"I've learned to keep an open mind and not attempt to anticipate anything," Picard said, exchanging a look with Beverly, who was putting some of the small bits of food from the appetizer platter on a small plate. "She isn't entirely human, after all. And their culture is not what I expected. Not that I've become an expert in twenty-four hours, but she isn't what you'll expect."

Riker was smiling on, probably imagining things he hoped might happen, but the moment came as it sank in -- a hard blink, followed by a frown. "Wait... isn't entirely human?"

"Her father was the second officer on the _Journey_."

That brought Beverly around from selecting a seat at the table, fourth chair on the right judging from her placement of her appetizer plate. "I wondered if she'd mentioned that. I noticed the genetics when I ran a scan before I gave her a sedative, thought it was curious but didn't ask. Wasn't that vessel one of the first delegations to Betazed?"

"After she mentioned it I went back to the logs. Yes indeed, Captain Setok brought a small diplomatic envoy to Betazed. They welcomed aboard three of the governors and Setok informed the second officer that he should stop talking to Lwaxana Troi, if he wanted to have a successful Starfleet career. A week later the ship left Betazed without their second officer. He beamed down to the planet's surface after the delegation departed, secretly. Apparently he acquired coordinates from his lady love and moved in with her after a mere three days of exchanging glances while negotiations were going on around them." The rest of the story had to be that they had been conversing telepathically. Picard would have expected that a Vulcan captain might have a little more insight, but perhaps Setok had been too focused on the mission and less aware of the mating behavior of a human male.

"I guess he liked her more than he wanted to be in Starfleet?" Beverly said, crossing one arm across her torso and holding up her wine in the other hand.

"I have a difficult time imagining that he'd just quit for a woman he'd met only a few days before," Riker exclaimed.

Beverly and Picard exchanged a wry look, and both chuckled for a bit. "Really," Beverly crowed. "Do you, now?"

"Oh, but that was different," Picard exclaimed as if she really should know better. "He knew Soren for several weeks after all."

Will glared at them. It had been a sore point for a while -- Picard had told him not to interfere in the J'naii culture, not to risk his career, and Will had beamed down and been on the verge of doing so anyway. But he had been in love, and later after it was all over and they were on the way to their next mission, he had recognized that had been most of his motivation, and been grateful that Soren had turned him away.

Then the door opened again, and the three of them turned to see Data enter the room with Troi on his arm. The android had that goofy grin in place that he sometimes had when in a situation he insisted he wasn't enjoying because he had no emotions.

"Good evening," Picard exclaimed, smiling at their guest. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

Troi let go and stepped away from Data, nodding her thanks to him, and approached the buffet and beverage tables, looking around at everything. "Good evening," she said, smiling at each of them in turn. "Would you explain what wine is, before I try it?"

"As it happens I could spend several hours telling you how it's made, since my family had a winery. But I will summarize by telling you that wine is an alcoholic beverage often taken with meals, made by fermenting a particular kind of fruit."

"That's what I thought. My father told me once that our _cynatri_ is like wine, but didn't go into much detail." She drifted over and picked up one of the carafes, sniffing it. "They are all different kinds?"

"That is Zinfandel. The white is a Riesling, the other red is a Merlot. Typically it's thought that red wine goes better with beef, which is what we've replicated for the main dish this evening."

"I hope the new suite is an improvement?" Will asked politely, approaching slowly. At least he wasn't looking down her elegant silver gown or grinning like kid with a sweet tooth at a candy store.

"It is, thank you, Commander," she said, glancing at him but turning back to pick up a tumbler.

"That's for water," Picard said. "These are the wine glasses."

Deanna looked at him directly for the first time. "There are specific ones? They are all for drinking out of, are they not?"

"Yes. However -- " He watched her grab the Zinfandel. "Not your tradition," he added with an amused smirk.

"I'll fill the other half with water when I'm done drinking the wine," she said with a cheesy grin. "Since it's half my tradition?"

"I do not understand," Data said. He was hovering about, not eating or drinking of course, but observing just the same as always.

Beverly turned and took Data's arm, sipping a little of her wine. "Data, she's making a joke about being half human. So she'll use half the glass out of respect for that part of her heritage."

"Oh." The other penny dropped. Data's head quirked slightly to the right. "The governor is half human?"

Troi put aside the glass and took a wine glass, pouring herself a little of the wine. "My father's name is Ian Troi. He was an officer on a Starfleet ship. He told me to keep my eye out for officers, when I told him that I would be visiting a Starfleet vessel this week. He's concerned that an officer might take advantage."

"You won't have any troubles with that sort of thing on the _Enterprise_ ," Will exclaimed.

"Definitely not," Beverly said. She shot a puckish look at Picard.

"It's a relief to know that won't be the case," Troi said, giving Picard a look that made him quite pleased that she had been so forthcoming.

The door opened, and in bounded Wesley. "Hi," he said, grinning at everyone. "Good evening, sir."

"Mr. Crusher," Picard said, staring at the young man in his duty uniform. "Do you feel as though you might be out of place?"

Wes gaped, glanced at his mother, who was also giving him a look, and looked down at himself. "Oh. S-sorry, sir. I'll go change!" He spun on a heel and was gone in a heartbeat.

"I did mention dress uniforms, did I not," Picard said. 

"You did," Will confirmed. "I think he was excited and it didn't register."

"I didn't raise him this way," Beverly complained. "You'd think the Academy un-trained them. He's been different since he's been back."

"Oh," Deanna exclaimed. They all turned to look at her. "I did not realize he was your son. I thought he might be your younger brother."

"Hmm," Picard said, smirking at the doctor. 

Yar and LaForge arrived, giving them a quorum -- figuring that Wesley would seat himself, Picard called in the yeoman and pulled out a chair for Deanna on his right. Data sat on her left between her and Beverly, making it easy -- he smiled benignly as he took his own seat at the head of the table, pointedly not looking at Will. 

"You look lovely tonight, Miss Troi," Will said with less 'flirt' than usual. 

"Thank you, Commander," she replied. The yeoman, also now in dress uniform, began to serve the meal. 

"It makes me wish I could wear a gown to parties," Beverly said.

Clearly, their guest had made sufficient inroads in befriending his officers that they were feeling quite comfortable in her presence, and vice versa. Picard watched the yeoman carefully place a full plate in front of Troi, and decided that the formal welcome aboard he customarily gave for formal dinners of this sort would be awkward. Instead, he waited until Mr. Crusher returned and scooted into the last chair at the foot of the table, between Yar and LaForge, and picked up his wine glass.

"A toast," he announced, rising from his seat. 

Everyone picked up their glasses and followed suit, though Troi seemed confused by it. 

"To peace. And to new friendships -- may they endure and flourish," he said, raising his glass.

He noticed, with some consternation, that Will and Beverly were hiding smug grins behind their wine glasses. Probably for different reasons. After they were seated and the meal begun, the yeoman departed to stand at the ready in the corridor again.

"What do you think, Miss Troi?" Will asked as she tasted the beef. 

"It's quite good."

"I am interested in hearing more about the waterfalls on your world," Data said. Since he didn't eat, but had taken a glass of wine to be social, he had less to occupy him -- he turned to look at her with his version of a pleasant smile. Sometimes he could be a little too intensely focused on the smile, giving it a slightly forced quality. They had clearly been talking while the android assisted her in relocating her quarters.

"I'm not sure how much more I can tell you about them. My focus is usually on the art of politics. We may have never had wars, or violent uprisings, but it could not be said of us that we agree on everything. We seem to excel at finding matters to argue about regardless of any real conflict." 

Picard almost responded to that but Will beat him to it. "So you have that much in common with humanity," he said smoothly. "Do Betazoids sometimes enjoy the arguing? Some humans almost treat it like an art form."

Troi stared across the table at Will, almost forgetting to chew. "I do not understand."

"Well -- " That brought Riker to a difficult choice -- he'd have to explain what he meant. And explaining the joys of bickering was not exactly the kind of conversation one wanted at a formal dinner with a diplomat. 

"When we were in orbit, I thought that Betazed looked a lot like Earth. I wouldn't presume to request to visit, but I wondered if you might tell us about it -- part of why I joined Starfleet was to see new worlds," Picard said, slicing another piece of beef. He scowled briefly at his first officer.

That launched a discussion of the planet itself, and rather than lecture at length on her world, she asked each of them about their home, wherever it was, and talked about parts of Betazed that were like that. Will's description of Alaska prompted a tale of the time she visited one of the northern provinces and stayed in what sounded like an igloo. It was an interested way to introduce people to Betazed, and Picard gleaned from it quite a bit about her, as she talked about her travels on her homeworld and described her reactions to each environment. She liked her creature comforts, certainly. Telling them about one of the southern cities where she found warm beaches to walk on brought a happy expression to her face, while describing snowdrifts and cold feet did not. She described the fruit orchards in the more tropical equatorial provinces when Picard described the vineyards and green hills of the rural area where he was raised.

"It's fascinating to me how different everyone's origins are," Troi said, as she ate the last bite of the pilaf. "Understanding that some worlds have many cultures and others have very few. It makes me wonder that Starfleet officers feel at home on starships surrounded by so many others from different cultures."

"I am continuing to develop an understanding of what it means to be human," Data said. "As I was created by a human I feel the closest kinship with them. However, it is most clear to me that I am far from my goal, when someone uses a phrase such as 'feel at home.' I do not understand what that means. Does it mean there is particular feeling associated with being in one's place of origin?"

Troi seemed to be somewhat distressed by this revelation. She gazed at the android with a wrinkle between her eyebrows. "I believe that the phrase more often means that one feels most comfortable in their environment. I feel most at home with my father, for example, who has lived in several places in the past few decades, none of which are the place I was born. Being at home implies a place of groundedness and peace. I cannot, however, claim to be completely at home anywhere on Betazed."

That was generally startling; Beverly, sipping at her wine glass, actually turned her head to look past Data at their guest. She studied Data with a sympathetic, wavering smile. Picard knew she was thinking about her parents, Caldos, her grandmother and Jack. 

"Why would you not feel comfortable on Betazed?" Data asked, still not quite dialed in to the nuances of conversation.

But to Picard's surprise, she answered. "I am the only half Betazoid on the planet. It leads to variable reactions from my peers. Acceptance from many, mixed feelings from some. Others are less understanding. I receive pity. Contempt. And I know that my father has felt like an outsider, since my mother died when I was very young. It does not lead to feelings of comfort or peace."

"That sounds really lonely," Wesley said, and there was no doubt he understood that emotion well. Picard had listened to Beverly vent about her son's struggles with his peers. 

"It can be. I have good friends. And I am fortunate that I get to travel and make more good friends," Troi said, smiling down the length of the table at the young man. Her usual warmth made him blush and sit back, and stare at his plate.

"I wonder if you have an opinion on whether Betazed should join the Federation," Will asked. "Not an official stance, a personal opinion."

Troi's head came up and she studied him with an indecipherable expression. Picard was about to change the subject when she started to speak. "Do you believe that we need the Federation?"

It made Will blink and think about it. Picard thought about the Imari, and said, "Not at all."

"Then Betazed would have to want to join," Data said. "And if it has not opted to do so each time the Federation sends diplomatic envoys to discuss joining, it has not historically desired such a union. So it remains unlikely that it will do so."

"What about trade? What about being able to travel in the Federation?" Will asked.

Troi's eyes were laughing. "Why do you think I can't travel in the Federation? Why would any Betazoid want to?"

"Have you traveled in the Federation?" Picard asked.

"On Betazed, we don't have replication technology. If I did not travel to the Federation, my father would never have his favorite things. I go to Denaria Six once a year, to maintain good relations with the Denarians. While there I pick up my annual order from the London Tea Exchange -- also the order from Sainsburys and a variety of other stores in London. A year's supply of his favorite foods and beverages, correspondence from family, and biscuits and Earl Grey."

"A man of refined tastes," Picard said. 

"Can you imagine why, if there is no benefit for us to be a Federation world, we might want to be one?" Troi said, glancing again to Riker. 

Will shook his head. "Most worlds are in agreement with Federation ideology. Is there something about it that disagrees with yours?"

That was a good question, actually, and Picard almost wished Will hadn't asked it. But she had not shown offense yet, and seemed willing to field the questions so far. Something about her invited openness. He turned from Riker to look at her, and found himself looking in her eyes, as she looked at him. She seemed to be assessing him. She turned that expression on Will, and then on Tasha who was seated next to him, and then Geordi and Wesley. 

"In the past, it has been observed that the ideology does not match the envoy."

That floored Picard, and judging from the wide-eyed looks around the table it had the same effect on most. Data stepped up to do the obvious. "I do not understand."

"Prior delegations were not honestly representing Federation ideology," Troi said. "What they say and how they thought about it did not correlate. When Betazoids communicate they are congruent. We are honest."

It took a minute for Will to come back from the shock. "There are telepathic species in the Federation."

"Captain Setok," Picard said, trying to shake him out of it. He thought Will might be angry.

"I am not a strong telepath," Troi went on. "Primarily I sense emotions. Betazoids are strong telepaths, not necessarily empathic, and it takes discipline that they normally do not exercise to avoid picking up stray thoughts from species without telepathy or discipline. The first delegation were sent away because the individuals were not honest in their intentions. The second delegation was sent away because Setok was not entirely forthcoming and the Betazoids knew what he was hiding, and saw no reason he should hide it. The third delegation was sent away without -- this surprises you?"

It did, but he hadn't intended to comment. Picard shrugged. "You know all of this, when most of it happened before you were born?"

"I know all of it because all of Betazed knows. When we are on our world, we are all connected -- I am less telepathic so it takes intention and effort, on my part, but it takes me no time at all to know what was experienced by those who interacted with previous Starfleet officers and diplomats. I know what was said and how it was said. I know who was telling the truth, and who was not. Just as I know you have told me the truth."

Will was suddenly very interested in what few chunks of vegetable were left on his plate.

"I've never heard of telepaths who were so...social," Beverly commented.

Troi nodded, leaning forward a little to look down the table at her. "I have not heard of any similar species, either. And I am most often the one sent on Betazed's behalf. I'm more comfortable leaving home than most."

"This explains much of what has been described in reports," Data said.

"We appreciate your informing us of this," Picard said.

She turned to him with an odd smile. "It does not matter if you know, nor would it have mattered if prior delegations had been fully informed. In fact, I told the last captain, Fordham, that Betazoids are telepathic. I also told him that it did not matter if he told the rest of the Federation that we are -- all of Betazed knows the truth of each encounter with us. Betazed will listen to your delegations. When you are ready to accept us as friends without the treaty, you can consider the effort a success. We don't need a treaty to know that we can trust you. When you understand us, and are able to deal honestly and openly with us as we do with others, we can consider you a friend."

"So the prior delegations didn't know about this," Will said.

"What would have changed if they knew or did not? Nothing. We answered questions honestly. We communicate with a species on their terms, because we know that only telepaths would be able to communicate as we do. My mother asked Captain Setok if he wished to interface telepathically with her but he misunderstood, believing that she wanted him to initiate a mind meld, and he became angry -- yes, that would be another reason that we do not wish to meet with Vulcans. They deny emotions. We embrace the full experience of life, they avoid it."

"I'm surprised that no one asked how you preferred to communicate," Picard said. "So you perceive no dishonesty in previous delegations not disclosing everything to the visiting Federation representatives?"

Deanna was now smiling in amusement again. "Captain. You are assuming that Betazed has an idea of a need for full disclosure. It was not until my father came to Betazed that we understood that you do not approach others as you do with the intent to be completely honest. You say that a man puts forth facts about his Federation in the name of disclosure, but when the man himself either does not entirely believe what he is saying or he does not himself embody those qualities he is claiming the Federation has, we see it as hypocritical. Why would you trust someone with more information, if you do not see that he is being genuine? We did not understand that there is a disconnect between some individuals and the overarching ideology of the Federation until my father was able to identify the problem -- on Betazed, we all share the same values. We may argue amongst ourselves on small issues, but we agree on the larger matters. We do not harm each other physically. We do not wish anyone ill. We do not tolerate malice. We are not greedy. Some of the species we've befriended are similar to Federation species, but none wanted to set in place a formal agreement with conditions. Such things indicate a level of mistrust that we cannot tolerate -- we do not need to be so concrete and define everything, we need to trust. And I attempted to explain this to Captain Fordham, but I fear that he either did not understand or did not want to accept it. I may have failed to explain it completely. I only use Standard with my father, and he does not talk politics with me very often."

Riker was looking at Picard with an expression that asked the eternal question -- what now?

"You're right," Picard said, sitting upright from the slight slump he'd fallen into. "None of this makes very much difference to how the Federation, let alone Starfleet Command, will want us to resolve this. But I hope that you do not mind that I convey all of this to Admiral Fitzgerald."

"I would not have told you, if I did."

"It must be difficult to find privacy on Betazed," Will said.

"Not as difficult as you might expect. We are all individuals, after all. We may be unified in some ways but we do share only that which concerns us all." Troi glanced around the table again. "I hope that you can all forgive me, but I am still not accustomed to your schedule. I believe that I should return to my quarters. We should meet tomorrow, in less formal dress, so that we can begin to prepare for meeting with the Cardassians, which is after all the real goal of this journey."

"Thank you, Miss Troi, for being willing to join us," Picard said, rising as she did. "Good night."

The others were rising as well, some were bidding her good night, but she turned and met Picard's eyes for several seconds. He had the impression then that she wanted him to come to her quarters, and as he registered the thought, she smiled and turned to tell the others good night as well.

His senior staff remained, watching her leave, and turned to look at him again. "Sir," Data began.

"Yes, Data?"

"Do you think that we will be any more successful than previous Starfleet officers, in convincing the Betazoid government to seek Federation membership?"

Picard glanced at his first officer, exchanged a sad smile, and shook his head. "Good night, Mr. Data. You are all dismissed. Number One, if you'll recall the yeoman to tend to the room?"

Several of them were on the same deck, so Picard rode in the lift with them and went to his quarters. He decided to abandon the uniform entirely, put on pants and a green shirt such as he might have worn on leave at home in France. The impulse didn't register as unusual until he was in the lift again, riding up a few decks to deck five, section four. The door opened as he approached it and he found himself looking at her more directly than he'd felt he could in the dining room, surrounded by senior officers.

She still wore the shining gown, all the little slips of bright silver moving slightly as she breathed. It wasn't so tight as to be restrictive, but it proved she had a nicely-proportioned, shapely body.

"You're worried," she said, not reacting to his appraisal and approval.

"About many things, but at the moment I am considering that it may be better to be disappointed."

"You think that my mother must have manipulated my father, and you wonder if it may be within the realm of possibility that I am doing the same."

"No," he said, smiling sadly. "I can't say that I did not think about that. But you have no reason to want me. I have nothing of any value or use to you. Nor do you seem to need anything."

"So you must conclude that I find you attractive, in and of yourself," she added, taking a few steps toward him.

"At least I know you weren't using telepathy to find out what kind of tea I enjoy."

"No," she said with a low chuckle. "It's a very familiar smell. I think you are afraid, that I will present you with some conflict, if you decide that you would like for us to be together -- it would make sense for a very dedicated officer to hesitate to give up his career. And it shows that you already care for me on some level, that you already look forward and not want to hurt either one of us. Please sit and allow me to tell you the rest of what I did not say in the dining hall."

So he did so, stiff and upright on the couch, and she came and sat closer than they had been in the ready room. She placed her hand over his slowly as if afraid of startling him away.

"I've been on Betazed all my life," she said, no longer smiling. "My father was thirty-six when he arrived. He's now eighty-six, and he has started to get sick some of the time. We have very good doctors but not as good as yours, I think. I want to take him to Earth and find him a home there, so he can get the treatment he needs. He stayed on Betazed, all alone and grieving the loss of my mother and sister, to take care of me, and I'm the only reason he's still there. As for me... I am as I said before the only half-breed on the planet. I don't feel entirely at peace there either. Does that change your perspective at all?"

"It does, somewhat. It still remains that I'm on a starship, and.... You know, there are not so many hospitals on Earth with technology so cutting edge as what's in a sickbay on a Galaxy class starship," he said, as the possibilities flitted through his mind.

"My father would enjoy being on a starship for a time, at least. I had hoped you would be able to take us to Earth. But if we decided that we wanted to be together, after the days or weeks or months it would take to reach a conclusion about that, I doubt that he would object to living on Earth without me."

"So that negotiation at least was successful, regardless of the ultimate outcomes of those with the Cardassians or the Betazoids," he said with a grin.

She laughed in delight, and gripped his hand tightly. "You're not being difficult to persuade. I didn't expect that."

"I might have been, but there have been incidents in the past few years that have tempered my resolve, in too many ways. But I would rather save those for some other time. Tell me more about your father."

"I suppose you're curious about why he abandoned Starfleet for my mother," she said. "Would you believe it was love at first sight?"

"I could believe it. I have difficulty doing so, however."

She smiled, shifting on the couch to lean back against it. He did the same, and took her hand again. "It was, but it was also the fact that telepathy is a much, much faster way to exchange information. If I was better at it, I could transmit the memory of that time to you directly. However, I am limited to describing it, using language."

"I think I prefer the slower approach. Taking our time has its own appeal."

"My father is a wonderful person. He regretted abandoning his post. He doesn't regret his choice, though it was very difficult for him to raise me alone on a world that he felt so foreign in. He told me later that he wanted me to have the experience of my Betazoid culture growing up, because he knew that if we left for Earth, I wouldn't be able to come back."

"Why?" Picard asked, after a moment of dismay.

"They would let me return. I wouldn't leave him, though, and he knows that. Without easier transport between the planets I wouldn't go back."

That started another thought process, that distracted him for a moment. When her head bumped his shoulder, he glanced down and realized she'd fallen asleep. He nudged her awake again. "You should go to bed."

"Yes. I'm sorry." She sat up again, and smiled at him. "Will I see you in the morning, before meeting with the others?"

"Oh," he exclaimed, having another epiphany. "You're accustomed to having Betazoids all around you, all the time. Are you feeling lonely?"

Instead of a happy smile, she looked down and away, actually starting to cry. "It's strange, having minds all around me but not ones that are in harmony with mine. I have a little of what Dr. Crusher gave me, in the bedroom, so I can sleep soundly."

"Come to breakfast, at seven hundred hours. We'll talk about more pleasant things."

That brought a smile; she stood up with him, and unexpectedly kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

"I'll see you in the morning," he replied, hesitating and on the brink of kissing her, but then moving toward the door instead. He heard her say a quiet good night, and was out the door and in the lift before he could breathe normally again.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Picard was setting out the croissants and fruit when the annunciator went off. "Come in," he called out. He'd just finished the morning routine and had been wondering.

It was Troi, of course, and her clothing had changed -- she wore something very closely resembling the dress uniform, in fact, a burgundy tunic with black trim at the cuffs and neck, over black tights. Her hair was twisted high in braids, with long curls tumbling down her back. She wasn't smiling.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"I was going to ask the same, you're startled. Is this not acceptable?"

"It resembles the uniform. It surprised me, that you would want to wear it. Also it's very different than what you've been wearing."

"I had thought that something similar to the uniform might be less distracting for the others," she said. "I'm noticing that several of them are attracted to me. I will wear something else, if you think this too is distracting."

"Please, make yourself comfortable. We can discuss it if you like. Dr. Crusher may be here as well, she often comes to breakfast with me."

Troi was a little surprised at that, but sat on the couch with him, and reached for one of the small stack of plates. "What is this?" She pointed at the croissants.

"Croissants are a sort of pastry, they go well with the fruit. You can add butter or jam to them."

She watched him put things on his plate, and followed his example. "I am trying to learn everything I can about Earth while I am here. Previous delegations did not give me accommodations on their vessel, so I had no time to ask the computer for information. I was reading about France last night."

"You were?"

"My father is from England. He has mentioned France, but not talked about it."

"You could ask a Frenchman," he said, mildly chastising. "I would watch my mother make croissants. There was always a good deal of fresh butter involved, and a lot of time, and rolling out the dough."

"Butter?"

He smiled, thinking about how much he would be explaining -- perhaps it would shorten her learning curve to spend time in the holodeck. "It's made from milk. You might have an analogue on Betazed. You'll be able to see how it's made, when you get to Earth. There are places -- my home village included -- where people opt to live very simply and use older methods of making foods and clothing."

"I'm looking forward to seeing everything. I'm sure there is a lot to see." She put raspberry jam on her croissant, handling the knife awkwardly. "I was also attempting to understand more about how humans approach more intimate relationships. There are some incomprehensible sources in the computer."

He almost lost the sip of coffee he was taking. "Oh," he blurted, grabbing a napkin. "Well. That is something less defineable, I think. Most people simply work it out as best they can. In fact, I'm fairly certain the fact that you are searching for answers indicates that expecting to go about this in the same manner as it would occur between two humans would be ridiculous. We usually don't talk about this sort of thing in such blunt terms. The way we were talking last night does not typically happen."

Her confusion was evident -- it was one of the things he was enjoying, the way her face displayed so plainly how she felt. "You were concerned that this would go nowhere, because you thought that I would go back to Betazed and be inaccessible to you. I corrected that belief. It seemed to me that you understood that I don't expect you to decide to abandon everything and stay with me, in three days or in three months, or three years. We need to know each other better for either of us to feel comfortable making that decision."

"More than most couples would normally need to know, in fact, since I have no real concept of your cultural background, nor you mine. But this is not insurmountable." He picked up another croissant. "You should know that I spoke to the admiral first thing this morning. I told him about your father. He said that under normal circumstances he would be held accountable for desertion, but that given you are playing a major role in ending a war, he is going to talk to the Chiefs of Staff about a pardon. That would avoid the unpleasantness of a court martial."

She gaped, almost dropping her food, hurriedly putting the plate on the table again. "I didn't realize," she cried. "You mean -- he would have been in trouble?"

"He disobeyed orders and abandoned his post. Yes, he would be prosecuted, if he returned."

"But you fixed it?"

"Well, given the circumstances and that he's in poor health, and that you -- "

She slid along the couch and threw her arms around him. Her cheek was warm against his, and a little wet. He was torn between protesting and not, holding his cup in his right hand awkwardly and trying to not spill coffee on her. "Thank you," she cried. "I would have taken him all the way to Earth and they would have -- it would have been my fault, thank you so much for helping us."

"I think -- I would like to put down my coffee."

She let go, sliding off his thigh, but sat there, so close that if she leaned she would be in his arms. Not unpleasant but a little anxiety-provoking. She grabbed a napkin and started wiping at her face. She wasn't wearing eye shadow or any of the other usual kinds of makeup, but there appeared to be some eye liner streaking her cheeks.

"Miss Troi," he began, and at her eye-rolling glance he fell silent.

"We are talking as if we're about to start some sort of courting ritual, and you still address me formally," she said. "Is this because of that regulation you mentioned?"

"Well... I've been through a court-martial. It's not a procedure that most officers enjoy, even if the end result is exoneration. I don't feel that it would be conducive to fostering a relationship to start it with losing my commission." He refilled his coffee and added a little more cream.

"All right, _Captain,_ since this is clearly going to be an impedement, I can simply issue a statement to give you blanket permission to conduct an intimate relationship with me as you see fit? Would you like me to put it in writing, sign it with witnesses and add the seal of the Fifth House for good measure?"

Picard looked up from stirring his coffee -- she was still trying to wipe away the smears. "That won't be necessary. As it is obviously more culturally appropriate for you to make verbal agreements and it would signal a lack of trust on my part, it would be detrimental, in fact. I think that a clarification is in order, however. I believe in specificity. So you will have to tell me exactly what you wish me to do, when you want it to happen." He thought she would probably understand that it was teasing.

She had that mischievous look in her eye, the same one she'd had while threatening to pour wine in a water glass. "Call me Deanna."

"As you wish."

"Kiss me."

Picard smiled at that. "Wholly out of the question. It's too early for kissing. Frenchmen never kiss anyone before lunch."

"You are a terrible liar," she murmured. But she still grinned, appreciating the humor.

"If I am to call you Deanna, you should call me Jean-Luc. Unless we're in mixed company."

"Mixed...."

"Other officers." He sighed heavily. "Would you like to wash your face?"

"Is it that bad? I'll go to my quarters," she said. "Does your replicator know any Betazoid recipes?"

"It may. I'll ask the computer."

"I'll be back shortly." She hurried out of the room.

He ate, drank coffee, and almost tossed both away at the sound of the annunciator -- it wasn't her coming back, it was too soon. "Come in," he said with a great sigh of forebearance.

Beverly was two steps inside and talking almost before the door finished opening. "Good morning, I -- well, where is she?"

He stared up at her with a half-pleading, half-incredulous look that questioned her sanity.

"Do you normally use two cups and two plates? Or is that half-eaten croissant for me?"

"Oh - sit," he said, waving his coffee at the chair on his right. "Would you like some coffee? She'll be back shortly."

"Did you get much sleep?" Beverly took the chair offered and reached for the third mug, holding it up so he could pour. He tried to ignore the evil grin.

"I hope you aren't laughing that way when she comes back. She came for breakfast, by the way. I wanted to discuss her plan to bring her father back to Earth, because she'll need help with that."

Beverly sat up without completing the attempt to grab a croissant. "Oh."

"Evidently he's in need of medical intervention," he went on. "I'm talking to Fitz about the possibility of letting bygones be bygones, not prosecuting him for desertion when they arrive on Earth. Given what his daughter is willing to do for us, there's a good chance."

"Oh -- that would be wonderful for her," Beverly exclaimed. "And it might make a difference with Betazed."

"I doubt it, but it's worth doing nevertheless. Oh, come in," he exclaimed wearily, as the annunciator went off again. 

This time it was Will, looking frantic. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Beverly replied.

"I just saw our guest hurrying off into a lift, crying," Will exclaimed. 

"I suspect you mean that you saw her leaving my door and going to the lift, and expect that it's something I said?" Picard pointed at the other chair, opposite Beverly at the other end of the coffee table. Will came over and sat down. "She was happy because I am trying to convince admirals not to court-martial her father, if she takes him to Earth."

"Oh," Will said, as if it was a letdown. Then he stared at Picard suspiciously. 

"I asked her to come to breakfast, so I could discuss it with her," Picard said grumpily. 

"All right, then. You had me worried for a second." Will smiled happily, at last.

"Oh, no," Beverly said, suddenly alarmed. "You two better not be fighting about this."

"Fighting?"

Picard put his plate on the table with a thunk. "I am not fighting with anyone. There is nothing to fight about."

"Jean-Luc," Beverly scolded. "You're both making eyes at the same diplomat!"

That led to the two men glaring at each other. "We are not fighting," Picard informed her, turning to glare at her.

The tone sounded -- and that had to be her. If it were Data, Picard thought, he might start to throw crockery. When Deanna came in, she had not only cleaned her face, she wore a different shirt over the black pants, something in teal. She wasn't surprised to see the other two. 

"Good morning," she said, returning to her spot on the couch next to him and picking up her cup. "Is something wrong?"

"Beverly is upset. Will thought you were upset, so he was upset. I think he might be upset again because Beverly is. I may have some of that out of order."

 "All right," Deanna said uncertainly.

"So what are we going to do today?" Beverly asked brightly.

"Our jobs," Will said. "And that would include a staff meeting, to prepare for meeting with the Cardassians, of course."

"Yes, ten hundred hours," Picard said. "So when you get to the bridge be sure everyone knows."

Will nodded and stood up. "Yes, sir." He hesitated, though, and looked down at them.

"What is it, Number One?" Picard asked patiently.

"Nothing, sir," he said immediately.

"Either ask now, or don't ask at all," Picard exclaimed.

Will was in mid-stride, turning to go, but hesitated. When he glanced at Deanna, she was sipping some of her very sweet coffee that she had added too much sugar to, and not looking at him. Her attention was on the fruit plate. Without a word he headed out the door.

"I guess that means I'll see you both at ten," Beverly said as if nothing at all had happened. She put down the plate and took the mug with her as she stood and went around the table. "I'll be in sickbay if you need me."

Picard finished what was left of his croissant and watched Deanna nibble hers. "Beverly, Will and I are friends," he said. "Sometimes there are conflicts between us." Though not customarily all three at the same time.

She raised her gaze and studied him once again, with the most eloquent expression of sarcastic disdain. "He spent the evening looking at me, last night at dinner. He was frustrated when he left."

"It's not going to be a problem."

"He's angry. Hurt. I don't understand why," she said, sounding upset. "Was it something that I did?"

"No, if anyone did it, he did it to himself. I'll talk to him later."

Deanna stared at him with suspicion.

"He is my first officer and we have disagreed on many things. We discuss it, we work through it, we go back to working together and being friends. Is this unusual to you?"

"Is this something that all humans do? Feel this way, and then change again?"

"Is that not the way it works on Betazed?"

"I think we may have a different perspective on this. But -- " She thought about it again. "We can discuss this later. If we have a few hours before the meeting I would like to ask you about your experiences with the Cardassians."

"That would be more relevant to the current situation, true. But it truly is the last thing I would want to talk about."

He thought he did a fairly decent job, of sounding calm, even flippant. But she was now more distressed than when it was only about Riker -- the glitter in her eyes resolved itself into a tear, creeping from the corner of her right eye. He sat quietly with his hands resting in his lap, doing his best not to think about being captured and tortured, though the memories danced around the edges of his thoughts.

"I have a troubled history with them," he said at length. "I am perhaps fortunate that I am still alive."

"Perhaps," she said faintly. 

"Deanna," he said, unsure of what to do about this. 

"I don't want to discuss them now. Please show me the holodeck."

That was completely unexpected; he lost the power of speech for a moment. "They are on deck eleven."

She stood, clearly expecting to go immediately, and so he took her to see one. They walked together to the lift, and once inside she stood closer than expected, though she wasn't attempting to touch him. 

They walked into the first empty holodeck and stood on the grid. "This is a room with projectors -- "

"Yes, Data explained it to me, when we were moving my things to my new suite. I thought it sounded interesting. It's voice-controlled as is the computer?"

"It's operated entirely by the computer. You could use the panel, at the arch, or you can simply tell it what you would like to see. Did you have something in mind?"

"Do you have a favorite place?"

He sighed. "Computer, load program Picard four, version two."

The program he had created after visiting France shimmered into being. They were standing at the top of a hill overlooking the vineyard down the lane from his family home, on a cloudless day. There were sheep grazing in a field across the road on the other side of the hill.

"This is near my family's winery," he said. "I walked to school down this lane every day."

She turned about, taking it all in. Unlike anyone else who had never been in a holodeck before, she seemed completely unsurprised. She knelt and picked up a rock from the edge of the path, examined it, and threw it -- the rock ricocheted off the trunk of a small tree nearby.

"You feel better here. It's a relief. This is fascinating technology. But nothing feels real to me." Deanna smiled at him, sidled closer. "Except you, of course."

"It feels real to me," he said. "What is it that seems off to you?"

"Those animals and the plant life don't feel alive. I might as well be in a room with furniture. It's a very beautiful picture but I would like to be there."

"We could go to the arboretum, if you wish."

"No, show me more of this. This is a field of cultivated plants?" She waved at the vineyard.

"Vines. The grapes that we make wine from grow on those. The field over there has sheep, a kind of animal that provides wool to make clothing, also milk or meat."

Answering questions took his mind off the rest of his concerns, and before long they were walking down the lane. 

"This is an accurate representation of your home?" She again obviously sensed his response, as her steps slowed and she turned to him in concern.

"The last time I was in my village, at my home, I took video of the countryside to bring back for this purpose. Previously I had not been there in decades. My father thoroughly disapproved of my choice to be in Starfleet, and after my mother died I had no reason to come back. My brother took over the winery. After I was assimilated by the Borg, and recovered, I went back to Earth for an extended period to recover and one of the things I did while there was to visit my brother. I suppose I felt that it would somehow ground me, and it helped."

At least she wasn't as affected by whatever she sensed about that particular set of memories. "You have other incidents in which you have suffered while on a mission for Starfleet?"

"I'm suspecting now that your father did not talk extensively about his own career." In fact, thinking about that, he could see how there might be reasons that Ian Blackwell would avoid those memories. Guilt about deserting, for one. Needing to immerse himself as much as possible in his adopted culture, for another.

"You insinuate that it is normal to suffer at the hands of others, and continue in a career that will only result in more of the same. Do you believe that's necessary?"

"That's an interesting question," he stalled. 

"That you don't like," she said archly. 

"I don't like questions that are impossible to answer. I'm not in Starfleet because I don't want to be hurt, or because I want to be. I joined because I felt that it was my purpose, my calling, to contribute to the progress humanity has made -- our history over the past several thousand years has been bloody, and yet we're now part of a larger interstellar community of worlds who have made peace with each other and have the same principles. We no longer go to war against each other, we are tolerant of those who are vastly different from us -- I wanted to explore the galaxy, and it's been as full of wonders and surprises as I expected."

Deanna smiled sadly, crossing her arms, looking at the ground between her toes. "Your drive to explore is stronger than your drive to war."

"I have no drive to war. No one wants war."

She stopped in the path, faced him, looked him in the eye. "Then why are you having a war with the Cardassians? Why are you attempting to befriend the Klingons?"

"We aren't attempting to befriend them. We have a treaty with them, that has been in place for two generations."

"That isn't a friendship. It is a cease fire, because they did not wish to be extinct," she exclaimed with more belligerence than she had yet shown.

"The Federation has no desire to make them extinct -- we were wanting the violence and death to cease, and we hoped that they eventually might become members of the Federation themselves. I wasn't aware that Betazed had any awareness of the Klingons."

She seemed to be concentrating on the original question. "If you do not want war, why engage in it?"

He found himself crossing his arms, as she continued to do. "There are species in the galaxy that do not share our concept of coexistence, something I'm certain you know. Defending ourselves becomes necessary at times. Why are you not traveling to talk to the Cardassians on a smaller vessel with fewer weapons?"

She raised her head slightly, and he recognized that he had allowed himself to be goaded into a response that was less politic than it should have been, while talking to a representative of an unallied species. Further, he saw that he had proved once again the wisdom of regulations; they had been making friends, and he had allowed himself to not think as clearly about the situation as he usually did.

And now there was a look in her eyes that shocked him. 

"You are retreating now," she said sadly. "Turning me into just another species you encounter."

"No. I have to do my job, Deanna. Until this mission is resolved, you are still a representative of Betazed, and I'm still a captain. I can't set that aside until we're done with it. The war needs to stop -- they capture and torture our officers when they are not destroying starships and their crews. They tortured me for days. You sensed the echoes of those memories and you were brought to tears, it was far, far beyond that bit of pain when it happened. You agree with putting an end to war, is it not why you came? To talk to them on behalf of Betazed, as well as the Federation, as you hinted when you spoke to the gul?"

She shook her head, resigned. "We are going to meet the Cardassians because your Federation Council wanted my help. I instructed them to send a delegation and if I was able to work with the people they sent, I would go with you. Betazed has already had meetings with the Cardassians. They ceased last year, when one of our vessels was attacked and the crew either killed or tortured -- and I do know what that was like for them. A few made it home, after all. We all know what Cardassians are capable of. And I am sorry that you found out first hand. If I had known about that before we agreed to this negotiation, it would have changed everything."

That was enough to bring him to a standstill. "What do you mean? How would it have changed things?"

"Your admirals did not tell us that Starfleet officers and Federation citizens were being tortured and killed. It changes everything."

"How? Please explain this," he asked again. But she looked around, searching for something.

"We need to leave. Can you contact your admiral?"

"Computer, arch." He followed her toward the exit when it appeared. He glanced at the console and noted the time. "We are due for that meeting in twenty minutes."

"We won't need the meeting," she stated imperiously, striding off to the lift. "I will meet you in your ready room in ten minutes."

Deanna actually ran then, and he stared after her in shock. When she had gone in the turbolift he shook himself out of it and headed for the bridge.

Will was waiting and ready, when he arrived, but hesitated as he saw the look on Picard's face. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not certain yet. Our meeting is canceled for now. Yar, an open channel to Admiral Fitzgerald, please. I'll be in my ready room, put it through when you have him," Picard said, moving that direction as he spoke.

When the monitor went on, Fitzgerald looked concerned. "Jean-Luc?"

"Miss Troi is requesting to speak with you. I'm not certain why, though I have a hunch -- I told her about my prior experiences with the Cardassians, at her request."

"I know that Betazed has been aware of them for more than a century, that's been mentioned numerous times. Surely they know what the Cardassians are like?"

"I'm no longer certain of that. She was very upset that they have been torturing people. Apparently she believes that the Cardassians are responsible for the extinction of a species called the Fo'Na, which apparently lived in the system we were originally using for the meeting. That did not upset her so much as torture of Starfleet officers."

"It's been noted that Betazoids sometimes don't explain everything even when asked directly," Fitz said.

The annunciator went off, and Picard admitted Deanna -- she was calmer than before, came to the desk as he pivoted the monitor toward her and sat down.

"Good morning, Admiral," she said with a smile, as if she hadn't run out of the holodeck minutes ago.

"What can I do for you, Governor Troi? Is everything all right?"

"I would like to know from you, please, how many Federation citizens have been killed or tortured by the Cardassian Union," she said, as if that were the easiest thing the admiral could have done.

"I... actually don't know, off the top of my head." Fitz glanced left, and did something off screen. "I believe that number, including those on colonies that have been attacked and vessels destroyed with all hands aboard, is ten thousand four hundred ninety-seven."

It was hard to decide what might be going on behind Deanna's somewhat-dismayed expression. She seemed far away, for a few minutes. Fitz waited patiently as did Picard.

"Deanna?" Picard almost kicked himself for the informality -- but he was concerned, and she was not behaving in a manner that he might expect. 

She blinked, and just like that she was angry. "Admiral, when we arrive tomorrow, I will stop the war."

"I -- what?"

"We did not understand that the Cardassians are so cold and bloodthirsty. They have always presented to us very differently. We understood that they were duplicitous and untrustworthy, we did not see beyond that -- I will tell them the war will end, and they will stop the war. The Federation will not see them encroach upon your borders again."

Fitz seemed to be struggling between shock and happiness. "If you are able to do so, the people of the Federation would be in your debt, Governor."

Deanna said nothing. In fact, she seemed upset by his words. She looked at Picard, who turned to the monitor. "We'll contact you after the meeting tomorrow, Admiral," he said.

"Good. Excellent. Until then, Captain." 

Once the screen was dark, he turned to her again. "Are you all right?"

"I am, Captain," she said.

Unexpectedly, it wounded him. He found himself holding his breath, and inhaled slowly, unable to look at her.

"You said we have a mission, and it should be the priority," she said softly. "I agree. I hope that you will come to dinner after we put an end to the war."

That was reassuring, and helped him breathe more naturally. "I hope that you will explain to me what changed. What was it about knowing how many of us suffered at the hands of the Cardassians that made you switch priorities, from negotiating to simply stopping the war? And what is the difference between the two?" As he asked the second question, he finally looked at her again.

She was sad, so very sad, and perhaps a little pained. "The difference is in the nature of the Cardassians. There are species in the galaxy who squabble and fight, over territories. We know this. We expect it. Sometimes we make friends with such species, but we do not involve ourselves in territorial disputes. When we encountered the Cardassians the first time we knew we would never be friends. Our contact with them has been limited. When the war started we were dismayed but neither side encroached upon our space nor bothered our friends. We informed them that they would never cross our boundaries again, after they took one of our vessels, and they claimed that they acted out of defense -- they thought those few were spies and apologized. It was consistent with their general paranoid nature, and they agreed never to violate the boundaries we set again. But that they torture and annihilate simply because they can -- there was no reason for them to attack the Fo'Na, they were not carbon based oxygen breathers, they had nothing the Cardassians could have wanted. And to torture -- that is not the behavior of someone defending territory. We do not tolerate this. We will stop them."

"But how do you simply stop a war?"

"You will see." She came to her feet and smiled proudly. "I will be spending the remainder of the time between now and the meeting in my quarters. I need to prepare. When we get there, you and I will meet with the Cardassians."

"That's not going to go unchallenged. Protocol demands that I should take security, and my first officer will probably mutiny if I attempt to go alone."

"You will not be alone. You will be with me." Deanna turned and headed for the door.

"Who will protect you?" He thought that would be a futile attempt, but made it anyway.

"I don't need protection," she said, as she strode out the ready room door.

Picard stared at the door for a while, trying to understand, reviewing, hoping to remember some clue from their conversations. When he let in the first officer, he watched Riker sit down without a word.

"Everything all right?"

"Wesley was right about the secret weapon," Picard said with a sudden grin.

Will's brows came together. "What?"

"She has decided that negotiation is no longer the plan. She is simply going to tell them to end the war. She said that they will comply."

"So she is the princess," Will said. "Well. I guess I'm lucky that she didn't show an interest in me, after all."

Picard leaned back in his chair and gave him an even look.

"But she is interested in you, isn't she? I thought she was, at the dinner yesterday. Is it mutual?"

Picard sighed. "Yes."

"Okay. Guess we'll see how that goes, then. So we're staying on course, situation normal -- plans suspended, flipped upside down, and backward."

"Essentially. I'll be going to the meeting with her. She's protecting us."

Will's jaw slid slightly to the left, as if he were chewing on that. "No, I don't believe you will."

"Now, Will, you needn't start with me. Those are her orders."

That won a two-eyebrow salute. "Well. She may be _your_  princess, but she is not mine, and I'll stick to protocol if you don't mind," Will exclaimed.

"We'll see, come tomorrow when we arrive, I suppose," Picard said mildly. 


	6. Chapter 6

Picard arrived in transporter room one to find Tasha and Worf standing at attention next to the console, where O'Brien stood waiting.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Worf?"

The Klingon looked like he expected tribbles to fall out of the ceiling. He always appeared tense, but this was a new level of anxiety for him, even more intensity to his glare than usual. He kept his gaze firmly on the floor. "No, sir," he growled.

"I told him that Miss Troi is Betazoid," Tasha said. "That's when it started." She shrugged.

"Is there something about Betazoids that you don't like, Mr. Worf?" Picard asked, in as mild a tone as he could manage.

"Klingon legends say that the Cyndrani are witches," Worf muttered. "Sir."

Picard frowned. "Are you saying... Mr. Worf. Are you saying you believe in witchcraft?"

"No, sir! But -- Klingons are not given to creating legends that have no basis in truth," he exclaimed defensively.

"Cyndrani, hm? Is that the name of the system in Klingon nomenclature?" Picard asked. "How long have your people known about them?"

"I do not know. I know only that the system is on our star charts under the name, and I know the legend."

"Miss Troi is here to end the war with the Cardassians. She is harmless to you."

Worf finally glanced at him and appeared to relax just a bit. "Yes sir."

They only had to wait for a few minutes. When the door opened, she came in and immediately stared at Worf for a tense moment. Then smiled. "Hello. I don't believe we've met."

"Mr. Worf is one of our security officers," Picard said. "They have orders to come with us."

"All right," Deanna said unexpectedly. "You have the coordinates, Mr. O'Brien?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the chief said happily. 

Picard gave them each a puzzled glance, gave a quiet 'hmph' and headed for the pad. Yar and Worf took up positions on the far left and far right, and Deanna stood next to him stiffly in between. 

"Energize," Picard said.

The room that coalesced in front of him was spartan and bare of furnishings. There were two very large, very red insectoids standing to the right. Deanna immediately spoke to them, and moved forward -- the strangest hugs he had ever seen ensued, long whippy antennae and two stiff forelegs were extended around Deanna while she put her hands on what amounted to the creature's shoulders. The clicking and clacking went on for a bit, then she turned to them as the insectoids left via an open door behind them.

"I introduced you to them and they said you are most welcome to their station," she said warmly. "We are to follow them. The Cardassians are already here and have been waiting for about half an hour."

Picard followed her, and Yar and Worf followed him. She was a slip of fiery red in the drab gray corridor; she'd chosen a gown of reflective scarlet, and there appeared to be a power source, as the lighting was hardly conducive to as much shining and flashing as was happening as she walked. Her hair was down and pulled forward to cascade down her right shoulder.

The two Imarins took up stations on either side of the door at the end of the corridor, and Deanna turned to Picard. "They can wait here, with the Imarins. We can summon them if needed -- but we will not need them."

"Sir, I can't," Yar exclaimed, her voice rising an octave. 

The two Imarins leaned forward, and the one on the left said something that sounded more harsh than prior conversation. Deanna held up a hand to it, and it stood back.

"You should wait here, Commander Yar," she said. Without waiting for an answer she turned and walked through the door. Picard used both hands to point at the walls, and moved forward to catch up with the little woman who shouldn't be able to move that fast in heels.

There were four Cardassians in the room, standing of course as there was no furniture, all in the gleaming uniforms of the typical Cardassian soldier. One of them was familiar; Picard's heart caught, and he forced a smile and a deep breath. 

And then he forgot about Gul Madred entirely. 

"You will stop the war with the Federation," Deanna said, her words ringing in the quiet room. She stood straight and tall, shoulders back, chin up, and unsmiling.

That drew the attention of the Cardassians as well. The one on the left started to chuckle.

"You will not torture anyone again," Deanna exclaimed sternly. "You will retreat within your empire and you will not venture into sectors you do not already claim."

"Really," said Gul Tramet, the word dripping with condescension. He was crossing his arms and smiling when all four of them flinched -- they slowly sank to their knees, holding their heads. To Picard's surprise, blood started to trickle from noses. 

Then there were four limp bodies on the floor. 

Deanna stood silent, and waited. Then she said, "I know you are awake. Get up."

No one moved.

"I said, GET. UP. We are not done with this conversation." She moved forward a few steps. "You will get up. You will look at me. You will apologize to Captain Picard, as a representative of the Federation, and as one of those you have injured unjustly. Or I will inflict upon you more of what you inflicted upon the crew of the Cyndrani vessel you pointlessly attacked, and lied about attacking. You will suffer what you have caused others to suffer, until you die. And I will call for another delegation and do the same, until we find the intelligent Cardassians who will agree to my terms."

The four started to move, slowly, and climb inch by inch up from the floor, swaying a little. Wiping blood from their noses and glancing at her. She waited until they were actually looking, and pointed at Madred. 

"You will apologize," she demanded, almost growling like a Klingon.

"I am," the gul began. Then winced as if it was causing him pain -- and then really winced, his face contorting, and cried out a little. He straightened after a moment of panting. "I am sorry. Captain."

Picard looked at her. "Stop this."

"This is what they do to each other," Deanna said. "This is what they do to those they imprison, whether they are at war with them or not. We have looked into the minds of these four and found the truth, that they enjoy inflicting such pain on others. This is a warning to you -- Cyndral is watching you now."

She turned and strode for the door. Picard hurried after her, not wanting to be left in the room with the Cardassians. Deanna kept going, toward the far end of the corridor. He hurried after her, letting his security officers come after them. 

"What was that? How did you -- why? Why -- "

He barely had any warning. He noticed the blood on her lip the instant her steps faltered and she crumpled to the floor -- he caught her awkwardly, and swung her up in his arms. 

"Yar, get us back to the _Enterprise_!"


	7. Chapter 7

Picard hurried into sickbay. "Doctor?"

Beverly waved him over and led him through the sickbay complex. At the aft side of the network of rooms, there were several private rooms. He remembered them too well. "She's awake, but you shouldn't stay long," Beverly murmured.

It had been nearly five hours since they'd departed from the Imarin system -- hopefully the universal translator hadn't butchered the expression of gratitude and farewell they'd sent the Imarins. It had indicated a positive response so Picard was hopeful. He'd contacted Fitz and fully briefed him on the situation, and gotten a followup call just minutes ago -- all over the Federation, there were reports of Cardassians making themselves scarce from the borders. A terse sentence had been transmitted from Cardassia Prime: "Cease fire." Shuttles with former prisoners of war the Federation had declared dead were picked up at hour four, near one of the outposts along the Cardassian border.

When he came in the room, he thought for a moment she was still unconscious. But she moved, moaning a little. He approached the bed tentatively. She finally saw him and jumped, and it occurred to him that he'd not seen her startled like that before. "Hi," she said weakly.

"Dr. Crusher paged me when you awakened. How are you?"

"Surprised. Better than I expected."

Picard touched her face. She blinked, but as he caressed her cheek, she smiled. "I thought you might have died," he said.

"Usually that is what happens. I told you my mother died rescuing my sister -- that is what I am to tell others. She was sent on a similar mission, to stop the Silraians. They were attacking our friends, and were as bloodthirsty as the Cardassians. They preferred to take prisoners so they could experiment on them. She died channeling the intent of Betazed."

Picard sat in the chair next to the bed. "I'm not sure I understand."

Deanna closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the pillow. "We do not believe in violence. We are opposed to using it. When we must stop a species that will not cease their violence after many attempts to negotiate peace, we connect -- all Betazoids must see what has been attempted, all must agree, because it is a very serious matter to inflict pain that way. My mother stopped genocide of another species."

"I thought you were killing them," he murmured. "Torturing them."

"We never kill them. They always believe that we might, however. We only inflict it on those who have proven to us that they are abusing others on a large scale. They understand the concept of peace, tolerance, but they reject it and continue to inflict pain. To convince them to stop, one must prove to them that there will be a serious consequence to continuing their behavior. When a species demonstrates that they are limited in comprehension or in respect for other intelligent beings, they must be given limits, before they destroy other species." Deanna paused, appearing to go to sleep, but then when he would have risen to go she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. "I'm sorry, I'm feeling lost without being able to sense the rest of Betazed. I usually have a connection, at least, in the back of my mind. The doctor said that there is brain damage."

"I should go and let you rest." He did get up then and came closer.

"Please stay. I feel so alone," she whispered, starting to cry.

That led to standing awkwardly at her bedside, touching her hair, wishing there was something more to do. "You stopped the war," he said at last. "The Cardassians have been withdrawing. They returned prisoners. I think the Admiralty and the Federation Council are in shock."

She blinked up at him through her slowing tears. "Did you tell them how it happened?"

"I tried. I'm not certain Fitz believed me."

"You left out that the message was given to the entire Cardassian people," she said. "I was a conduit for the collective mental power of Betazed. It was more than any single mind should be able to handle. I should be dead."

He staggered back and sat down again. "You can do that?"

"No. We can. Or, they can... apparently I am unable to, now. I can't sense you, here with me. I can't sense anyone on the ship."

"I'm sorry," he said softly, unable to think of anything else. The question he had had after talking to Fitz earlier came to mind. "Why did you take me in the room with you? Why did you need to go?" Surely that much power could have been wielded from anywhere. If it reached all the way to Cardassia it would have been possible from Betazed.

"We send someone to look at a representative and tell them verbally to be clear, so they do not write off the experience as a hallucination. It helps to have someone in proximity to members of the species." She waved her hand at him, beckoning, so he came back to her side to stand and let her take his hand. "I wanted you to be there because I was frightened and didn't want to be in the room alone."

The shock came and went, and then he noticed her smirk. "You're trying to make this easier for me," he said.

"You're crying," she said faintly. "Yes."

Picard touched the corner of his eye, and snorted. "You wanted me to see what happened."

"I wanted them to apologize to you. I did not anticipate the actual individual who hurt you would be present."

"I did not require an apology from that miserable man," he replied, surprising himself with how irritable the thought of Madred made him. Perhaps he needed to talk to the counselor again.

"We know that there are individuals at times who enjoy inflicting harm," she went on. "That is why we did not do this after the incident with our vessel. They said in the formal apology that the gul would be punished. This is why we prefer face to face contact. People lie, in messages, and they lie to our faces. When we are there, we can tell that they are."

"When we get to Betazed, to whom should I issue an apology, in person, on the behalf of the Federation?"

Deanna frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"No one asked the right questions. We have been dismissive of you. We discounted your requests, assumed that they were quirks -- we assumed too many things because of the long history of representatives thinking this was a lost cause and half-assing their way through meeting with you. And we, the crew of the _Enterprise_ , came into this mission doing the same damned thing over again. I would have done better to not read or listen to any of the reports from previous envoys."

She held her hand over her mouth, started crying again, and he thought that might have been the wrong thing to say. Until she started to laugh. 

"I'm afraid to ask what you are laughing about."

"You make me happy."

Picard rolled his eyes and smiled. "An unexpected side effect."

"My father will like you," she said, wiping her eyes with a corner of her blanket.

"We sent a message, informing them we were bringing you home. That you were injured and need medical attention. Dr. Crusher wanted to have your own doctors involved as soon as possible when we got there. I invited your father aboard for a tour, as he's no longer at risk of a court-martial if he does." He sighed, and regrouped. "Is there anything else that the Federation should apologize for?"

Deanna went sober, and let her hands fall to her chest as she considered this. "You're still trying to find a way to encourage us into joining. Aren't you?"

"It's worth doing. Not because anyone would want to weaponize you, or take advantage, or that we can protect you. You should be members of the Federation because we would benefit from having you among us. You could educate us -- help us not to make assumptions and fail to ask the right questions. See that we have had so much experience in treaties that we are overlooking the fact that we also need friends."

"Why would you have come to such a conclusion?" She was sounding more as she had when she'd initially come aboard, asking questions that he'd suspected she knew the answers to. 

"We've become good at making conclusions and not seeing everything in the picture. I finished the book you mentioned, and reread it again. The priest in the book examines the lives of the five people who died, and before the end he is sentenced to be burned at the stake by the church at the time. His attempt to determine why the tragedy happened was declared blasphemy by the church, which had a narrow and specific view of such things. You gave me the real answer, the last lines of the book, to tell me there is something bigger than five people, or five thousand. You told me that Betazoids don't have a theory similar to the collective unconscious -- because they have a collective consciousness. You told me that the individual mind does not have the ability to comprehend it. And I think you might have been telling me why Betazed won't join the Federation, in all of that. Because we have a church that refuses to see anything beyond its rules and its principles as anything but blasphemy."

Happiness glimmered in her dark eyes. "I wish there were more people like you in the Federation," she said. 

"There are. But I think we haven't been introducing them to you." He sighed. "I really should go. You should rest."

"Before you go, would you tell me how you feel about me now?"

The direct request startled him. "I was afraid, when I saw you -- what I thought was you -- inflicting that much pain on others. I am not certain I could agree with doing something like that to others. But -- as a Starfleet officer, at times we are called upon to set aside personal opinions, and follow orders. And I think that you, by yourself, would not want to do that. I suppose after all that's happened today, I'm ending up where I was before."

"Will you come back to see me later?"

"Of course."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm having ridiculous fun with the buttons, posting instead of saving things. So the chapters are shorter than they would have been. c'est la vie.

The following days in transit to Betazed saw more improvement -- Deanna recovered enough that Beverly felt she would be able to stay in her quarters. When Picard arrived for a visit on the second day, he met her leaving sickbay. She smiled at him with the warm approval and affection she tended to have. She'd put on another variation of the black pants and tunic, this one a metallic green, and he almost missed the dresses.

"Happy to leave, I see," he commented, turning to walk with her back to the lift with her. "Just as I was after each extended stay."

"You spent a lot of time in recovery?"

"Oh, you could say that. Now that you are out, we should celebrate."

"How will we do that?" She walked sedately alongside him and shot a sly look at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Lunch? I suppose she has imposed draconian restrictions upon you, so a brisk jog through the Risan outback is out of the question?"

"Draconian? Outback?" She wrinkled her nose. It was amazing to him that this woman who spoke so fluently still questioned certain words. 

"Strict restrictions. So you shouldn't be doing anything strenuous or adventurous. I had in mind sitting down with something to drink and talking. We have a place to do that -- a lounge, called Ten Forward. Had everything been less urgent, we might have had a reception for you there, to welcome you aboard."

When they arrived, it was still early and there were only a few people present. Guinan came over and nodded to Picard, then gazed at Deanna -- it seemed she had a more intense interest in her than usual, when he took a guest to Ten Forward. Deanna glanced at him uneasily and said, "Hello. I'm Deanna Troi."

"Guinan," the hostess said warmly, smiling and holding out a hand. Instead of shaking they briefly gripped each other's fingers. "Welcome to Ten Forward. Would you prefer a table near the window?"

As she gestured at the viewports, the ship dropped out of warp. There was a good view of Betazed from all points forward, and the planet hung before them against the backdrop of space like a blue-green gem. Deanna moved toward the view in awe. As he joined her at one of the viewports, she said, "I rarely see it from space. It's beautiful."

"It is. Other than the differences in the shapes of the land masses, it could be Earth."

"Do the Betazoid people intend to join the Federation? I understand that no Federation citizen has ever been allowed to visit. I'd like to," Guinan said quietly. She'd come up behind them.

"I would need to ask permission. I'm not able to do that yet."

"Would you like anything?"

Deanna asked for an orange pekoe, and Guinan moved away to get them tea. Picard noticed as she turned back to the view, Deanna looked sad.

"Is something wrong?"

"If I am unable to come back, I will miss it." She smiled and looked down -- sadder still. "I have a home on the shores of the Opal Sea. I enjoyed sitting on the deck looking out at the water in the morning. And all my mother's heritage will end. The Fifth House has a continuous line of succession for more than a thousand years."

"I suppose then it becomes a question of what you want more," he murmured.

"I would like you to come down with me, when I go see the doctors."

He turned, pulled out a chair for her, which she sat down in as Guinan returned. She placed two cups of tea on the tiny table. Giving him a look, Guinan returned silently to the bar, as a small group of officers came in. Picard gazed at Deanna across the top of his mug, wondering.

"The fact that I will miss Betazed will not change my mind about taking my father home," she said. "I am certain I will find things to enjoy about England. I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to stay in orbit, while I close my office and say my farewells. I have to appoint someone to take my place in our government and maintain the Fifth House properties."

"I have a degree of latitude in these matters. Our other assignments can wait. Especially if you take me out to dinner at some very exclusive restaurant."

That brought back the lights in her eyes. "I might be able to arrange that. I also need to arrange a few other things, if you still intend to give that apology -- what did your admiral say about it?"

"I haven't told Fitz."

She was startled. "You can't apologize on behalf of the Federation without permission, surely?"

"They consider starship captains to be ambassadors, representatives of the Federation at large in the galaxy, with minimal supervision. I can do what I want."

Deanna's eyes flitted left, and he turned to follow her gaze -- Will was approaching and came to stand in front of them.

"Your father is requesting to come aboard," he said to Deanna.

She was on her feet almost before he stopped talking. "Did you give him permission?"

"Of course. He'll be in transporter room two."

Abandoning the tea, they went faster than Picard thought she was supposed to go, and he hoped that she didn't injure herself. Will came along with them. O'Brien was there, as always, and he smiled at Troi -- again, Picard scowled. Was she really co-opting members of his crew? Data had been spending a suspicious amount of time discussing the Betazoid culture with her, and had been in sickbay visiting at least twice when he'd gone in.

"Energize, Mr. O'Brien," Picard exclaimed.

"Aye, sir," the chief said cheerily.

An older gentleman in a gray suit materialized on the pad, and turned with a smile as Deanna launched herself toward him. They embraced and he held her by the shoulders to look at her. Neither said anything, and then surprisingly turned to Picard and Riker. "Daddy, this is Captain Picard and Commander Riker."

"Ian Troi," he said, stepping forward with hand extended. He shook, with each of them, and looked around the room. "I have the feeling things have changed a lot since the last time I was on a starship. Thank you, Captain, for everything you've done -- I never expected to see a Federation ship again."'The man actually started to cry a little, roughening his voice.

"I will beam down and go to see my doctors," Deanna said. "You should ask the captain for a tour. You'll enjoy it so much -- I think you will find engineering very interesting indeed, the engines are much more advanced than what you've described. You should also meet the second officer."

"Maybe you should conduct the tour," Picard said, amused by this assessment from the woman who'd not made it past the bridge on her own tour.

"I could, as I've visited every department since I've been aboard, but I've promised Dr. Crusher I would see my own doctors. I spared you the boredom of the tour you would have given me, so you can do me this favor," she said, stepping up on the pad.

"Wait -- you're trying to tell me you didn't want to finish that tour because _I_ was bored?"

"I'm ready, Mr. O'Brien," Deanna said.

"See you when you come back," O'Brien replied. "Energizing."

When she was gone, Riker chuckled quietly. Picard glanced at him. "Is it just me, or has she been slowly taking over here?"

"If only you had the opportunity to meet her mother," Ian said with a grin.

 


	9. Chapter 9

"Was her mother as beautiful as she is?" 

Picard actually thought about the nearest airlock and whether he might be able to include it on the tour and kick Will out of it. They had spent half an hour in engineering on a question-answer session with Geordi, and moved on to sickbay. Beverly had broken the ice with complimenting Deanna's determination and dedication, and her intelligence -- there had apparently been tea and discussion between the doctor and her former patient at some point, wherein Beverly had discussed the Betazoid medical community with Deanna. And as they left sickbay Will had also complimented the daughter of Ian Troi, and as many a proud father was wont, the man had a lot to say on the subject of his daughter. And Will only needed to lob an occasional question to get him going again.

"Oh, yes," Ian exclaimed with the fond haze of memory fairly glowing from his face. "I completely lost track of where I was for a few minutes when I saw her the first time. Deanna looks like her, but she also has my nose and my chin. Sad to say."

They rounded a corner on the way to the holodeck. Will was in full swagger -- feeling good and walking with a swinging, loose gait. He had already mentioned that a post-war celebration was being planned; some of the junior officers were implementing it in Ten Forward. He loved parties, and it was a bonus to have a good excuse. 

"Her mother was also incredibly intelligent," Ian went on. "Another thing she inherited."

"This is the holodeck," Picard said, as they came to a halt in front of the doors and they opened. "Not sure they had these when you were an officer."

"So this is where the action is? How does it work?"

Picard smiled. "Where did you say you were from?"

"Bramfield. It's up north of London, if you're not familiar."

"Computer, load a simulation of London, current as possible." 

The clean modern streets of London materialized in front of them. They stepped out and behind them the doors closed and vanished. Ian stood there for a while staring at the skyline of London, as if drinking it all in. He noticed a pub and went to look in the window. "This simulation is amazing."

"Yes, well, let's go in," Picard said, heading for the door. Inside the pub was a tad dimmer and furnished with leather seats in the booths and tables of dark stained wood. They sat around a table in the middle of the room and the holographic waitress took their order. Ian watched her leave in shock. 

"Do they have fish and chips on Betazed?" Will asked. 

"Oh, no," Ian exclaimed. "No, we're all vegetarians there. There's surprising variety but no fish."

"I was hoping we might have the opportunity to beam down for a visit. If we do, any restaurants you would suggest?" Will said with cordial interest.

Ian went silent. It was curious, given how friendly and happy to talk he'd been. His warm brown eyes were less warm, as he looked up from the wood grain table top. "I don't think you should allow anyone to go down to Betazed," he said at last. "Even if you're allowed."

"What? Why?" Will sat forward with his arms crossed on the table in front of him. 

"I don't think it's a good idea. They don't have lots of visitors from offworld. They won't understand you, no one understands them, it's dangerous."

Picard exchanged a look with his first officer, who now sat up as if they'd just been told they were invading Qo'Nos. "Mr. Troi, I'm afraid I need to ask you why you're telling us this."

"I know what they say," Ian said wearily. He paused, as the waitress in her smart creased slacks and white shirt brought a tray and placed baskets of fish and chips in front of them, and another brought glasses of beer. He picked up the beer and sipped, then drank deeply. "Oh, good god, that's an excellent lager."

"What they say," Will echoed, nudging him back on topic.

"The problem with everyone who's come to Betazed to try to persuade them to join the Federation is that you all assume too much."

"Well, we've figured that out the hard way," Will said with a glance at Picard. 

"Will," Picard said softly. "Let him finish. I think we're still finding that out."

"Just so. You've no idea -- Betazoids look like us. They don't eat worms or shed their skin like reptiles, or do much other than listen to us talk and politely ask us to move on. So because they aren't overtly broadcasting their differences, you think they are similar enough, and they don't enlighten you because for one thing, they're interested in learning about you. For another, they're also remembering really well, because that's what they do better than anything else, all the times they were too forthcoming and people suffered and died. Historically speaking, the Betazoids have solid experience in what can and can not be revealed safely, and to whom. And further, they know they cannot let people visit their world without restrictions."

"Is it really so dangerous?" Will asked, before taking a bite of his fish. 

"Not in the life-threatening way that implies. This is really very good -- it's real food?" Ian shoved another chip in his mouth and chased it with beer.

"The holodeck makes use of the replicator system to create edibles within the simulation," Picard said. 

"Best chips I've had in sixty years. The risk will be to the Betazoids. They have an incompatibility that makes it unwise for them to mingle with humans."

"Incompatibility?" Will now gazed at Picard with a classic look of puzzlement and concern.

"I didn't understand that when I was interested in Lwaxana and she in me, that this meant two very different things to each of us. That in my mind I might have a chance with a beautiful woman, and to her she had found her soulmate. And when I continued to show interest and she communicated to me that she had to be on Betazed and why, and that I should stay with her, I hesitated -- it was heartbreaking for her. She wanted children and a husband and I would deprive her of that."

" _What_?" Riker blurted, almost dropping his beer. 

"Everything okay over here?" the holographic waitress chirped, coming to the table.

"Computer, delete the characters from this scenario," Picard said. After the waitress was gone, he waited for Ian to continue.

"Betazoids are telepathic in a way you've never seen before. Vulcans actually maintain shields against each other. Other telepathic species are limited in their talents, by comparison. You saw what they can do collectively."

"Yes," Picard mumbled. "But that's not what you're talking about."

"A Betazoid doesn't need to so much as try, to see you for who you are, what you are," Ian exclaimed, shoving away the basket with a few chips left. "A look in the eyes, and they know you. They have this collective mind and they find each other like magnets -- Lwaxana was unique, in that she got to her forties unmarried. She was considered to be quite the eccentric. She looked at me as she stepped off the transporter and knew it was me. There's no dating on Betazed. There's not this extended stage of getting to know each other. They simply know. And if I had gone away again she wouldn't have another chance because she's been on Betazed all her life, she's not leaving her obligations behind to go anywhere else, and there is no one else -- if he was on Betazed she would have tracked him down through the collective consciousness already and they would have been together long ago. From everything I've seen while I've been there, they literally get one shot, one person, and that's it. If he or she dies before they ever meet, that person is single. And they know that the other person has died -- Lwaxana wouldn't lie, they would have known it was a lie, she was simply different."

"You're saying that you stayed here with her out of obligation," Will guessed, with a knowing look at Picard.

"I stayed because of that, if you mean that I couldn't stand breaking her heart. Which may be another way of saying I stayed out of love. Perhaps if I were a more callous man, she never would have felt any interest in me at all. Perhaps it was as the Betazoids will tell you, just the way it is, the way it should be. There would be plenty of humans who would contest that -- especially if I tell you about the obstacles we faced once we were married." Ian shook his head and sadly stared at the table again, once more wandering in memory. "There were those on Betazed who thought it was a sign of defect, that a Betazoid would even connect that way with someone of another species. And there are those who now see defect in the fact that Deanna has never connected with anyone on Betazed either. I wonder if it has something to do with being half human. I hope so -- I hope she can meet someone else, and escape being just an odd half-Betazoid among Betazoids."

It froze Picard solid in his seat, and it was a good thing that Ian was still somewhere in the past and not looking at him. Will, on the other hand, stared across the table and then looked away, concerned, trying not to react. 

"Bridge to Picard."

He exhaled, re-orienting himself. "Picard here."

"I have Admiral Fitzgerald attempting to contact you, sir."

"I'm on my way," he exclaimed. "Number One, if you would see to our guest? He'll need quarters as well."

"I will?"

Ian's surprise was another thing to understand, but there was an admiral waiting. "I'll catch up with you when I'm done with the admiral."

Picard made it to the ready room somehow -- almost in a trance, thinking about the ramifications of what Ian had said. First, it was obvious Deanna was not telling her father everything. Second, she wasn't telling Picard everything either -- part of him railed against that as everything he knew about relationships suggested that honesty and being able to trust each other were at the top of the list of things necessary to successful, solid, healthy relationships.

But he found himself arguing her side of things -- if she had told him would it have sent him running the other way, without knowing enough to understand that decision?

What was her motive for not telling him and acting as if things were normal, by human standards?

By the time he reached his desk, he could only reach a single conclusion. She wanted him to have the choice that he would in a relationship with a human, in spite of the consequences for her. He shook himself, took a breath, and set it aside. Yar had put the admiral through when he'd come to the bridge - he tapped the panel and the face of his friend appeared. "Jean-Luc. How are things going? You're still at Betazed?"

"Yes, we are. I'm staying in orbit while Miss Troi finalizes a few things in preparation to leave, as we discussed." He'd already told Fitz he intended to bring both Deanna and her father to Earth.

"Do you suppose you might find an opportunity to discuss a treaty with them? I'm getting questioned -- I know you already suggested holding off, for now. But you obviously have an excellent rapport and the Federation Council is -- "

"Look, Fitz," he blurted, not liking the way this sounded. "It's becoming obvious that this is not just a matter of rapport. There are extenuating circumstances here that have never been understood. I'm making some progress in finding out more about Betazoids and how they think, and I need to know more before issuing a full report. So far, I am finding it likely that if there ever is to be a treaty of any kind, Betazed cannot be treated the same way as any other world we've run across."

Fitz scowled. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying that I am investigating the possibility of a treaty and at this stage it appears to me that the usual Starfleet approach to such things is the real problem. Give me a few days, Admiral. Please. Tell them I'm working on it and I'll make a full report."

"Jean-Luc, I hope this will make more sense than it does right now. I'll do my best, because I know you are usually on target when it comes to these things, but...."

"It's not what anyone expects it is," Picard said. "I'm not yet completely informed, but I'm getting there. By the time I get to Earth I'll have a solid foundation to make recommendations."

Fitz stared at him from the monitor. "All right. And I'll expect you to come to my office -- I have a bottle of Scotch with our names on it."

When the monitor went dark, Picard leaned back in the chair, groaning, shoving the heels of his hands against his eyelids. He sorted through everything Ian had told them again, and then thought about things Deanna had said, and had not said. 

She had definitely said they would get to know each other. That neither of them were ready to commit to each other. That was something he would expect from a human. Her father clearly anticipated that she would follow the Betazoid norm. And if he was right, the complete opposite was true, at least for her.

For that matter, if Ian was correct, it was already too late. 

Picard was sitting numbly with anticipated conversations spinning through his head when Riker arrived -- he admitted Will without really thinking about it, and stared up at him bleakly.

"I guess she didn't tell him she wanted to take him home. I hesitated to spoil the surprise, suggested that it was her idea but that I didn't know and supposed she might think he would enjoy a night aboard a starship again. How are you?"

"I am as always at the mercy of a universe that seems to take pleasure in doling out impossible situations -- how are you today, Number One?"

Will snorted. "Wishing there was something I could do to help."

"Well, you have more reason for joy than I -- I've forfeited the ability to ever mention Soren again."

"That incident with Soren wasn't as much like this as it was like Ian's choice," Will said, surprising him. "I felt responsible for Soren's punishment, because it was my influence that led to her speaking out. I felt obligated to step in even at the risk of my career. Ian felt obligated, or that's what he's telling himself. I think there's more to it than that. Maybe for Betazoids, love at first sight is all there is. And maybe Deanna Troi was waiting all this time for you to show up. Think about it -- at what time in your life have you ever been in a better place, emotionally, to tackle this sort of relationship? It doesn't sound to me like she was pining away. She had a successful career. She takes care of her father. If they can do what you described, reach out across space to affect other species the way they did the Cardassians, who says she wasn't aware of you in her own way? She came aboard and gave up her tour of the ship to sit and talk to you. You've spent hours with her, you were in sickbay visiting when she was injured -- Geordi commented after the dinner that the two of you just click. Who says there isn't something to the way Betazoids do it?"

"I wasn't aware that you were so tuned in to how ready I am for relationships," Picard growled. 

"There's been a lot going on, here on the _Enterprise_ over the years. I think we may know a little more about each other than we did seven years ago?" At least Riker had the grace not to bring up any of the specifics. Picard wasn't certain he would be able to handle the teasing -- and that Will wasn't teasing suggested that he understood what was going on better than Picard thought he had.

"Well, regardless of what Betazoids, or anyone else, think of it, it's clear that I need to talk to her. So I'm going to go wait for her to come back. You have the bridge."

Will nodded. "I hope it all works out," he said sincerely, before turning to leave the ready room.

Picard sighed, and left his desk. "If only I knew what 'working out' really meant for me," he mumbled.

The rest of the ramifications of what Ian had said only hit him as he returned to his quarters -- from the way Ian had described it, Betazoids simply knew who their mate was, went and found them, without the trial and error of dating, wooing, failing and trying again. On a world where no one did such things, would she have ever even kissed anyone?

He thought about her teasing him and demanding a kiss, and started to question his sanity. "Where did I hide the whiskey?" he grumbled to himself, heading into the bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

Picard materialized on a deck overlooking water. He'd been focused on finding her and talking to her, but the view caught and held his attention -- the water was pale green with a band of shimmering turquoise along the shore. There was a flock of birds -- thousands upon thousands -- rising and swirling over the water, white wings flashing as they flew in perfect synchronization together in a fluctuating gyre above the waves. They were calling to each other -- similar to crows, he thought.

The sky was a shade darker than the one he remembered on Earth. It was a fantastic view. Nothing artificial in view save the deck he stood on, the railing upon which he rested his hands. There was a light perfume in the air that reminded him of gardenias.

"Jean-Luc?"

He turned at the sound of her voice. She stood in an open door, in a shimmering golden gown -- it registered within seconds that it was made of some sort of translucent material through which body parts were discernable. And she took a step into the bright sun, and it lit up the golden mesh brilliantly. She had her hair swept up and pinned on the sides of her head, curls tumbling down around her face and down her shoulders.

How profoundly unfair it was, some days.

He stared because that was all he was capable of doing for a while. Her smile dwindled slightly, and added puzzlement to the mix. "I wanted you to see my home, before we left orbit," she said. "I know that we are slightly late for dinner, so I have some food on the table." She came to him slowly and then it was all he could do to keep his hands down -- all he wanted to do was touch her, to see if her body --

"What did the doctors say?" he asked, trying to stop imagining things he wanted to do and focus on the more critical matters.

"They don't know whether I will recover completely. They've not seen anything like it before. They said that I might heal over time, since I was not so completely disabled that I lost other body functions. Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes," he said, and she turned and led him inside. In a way, it was good that she had no empathic ability, he thought -- she wasn't able to see how painful it was, to see and not touch her.

The interior was open and filled with light -- the house was small but all the walls featured broad windows that let in a lot of natural light, and the furnishings and floors were pale wood grain. There were bowls of flowers on many of the small shelves and tables around the room. She seated him at the round table in a corner overlooking the water, at the very front of the house, and there were platters of food as she had said. She introduced him to the items and invited him to taste the things he would never remember the names of, and so he did.

"Are you sure you want to come to Earth?" he asked, trying to find a way to start.

"Of course. I told you that I wanted to take my father."

"But he doesn't know you're taking him. We were talking to him, as we showed him the ship. We gave him quarters and he didn't understand why."

"He has talked so many times about wanting to go, wishing, that I know he will want to. I haven't had time to tell him. About you, either."

"About me," he echoed softly. That was his opening.

She sat back in the chair -- at least those were familiar enough -- and picked up a leafy wad, oskoid if he remembered correctly, to nibble. "Have you decided that we are not to be?"

"I haven't. I'm feeling too overwhelmed at the moment to be very coherent, I'm sorry," he said.

"Is everything all right? I thought you would be happy, with the end of the war. You'll be able to explore again as you enjoy doing. Once my father settles in and I can arrange for his care I can find.... What's wrong?" she asked softly, leaning forward slightly. His distress must be showing in his face.

For a few moments he considered dismissing it and moving forward as if nothing at all were amiss. But if he was having this much difficulty now, that would only become ever more increasingly difficult to do in the near future. He took a sip of the very sweet wine she'd given him, and set aside the delicate little glass. "Your father told us some things that I'm not sure I understand."

"About what?"

"Riker asked him about shore leave. If we could visit the planet. He warned us not to do it because it's historically been disastrous, because there are too many differences that aren't apparent."

"That has been true, yes."

"Why didn't you explain to me how Betazoids... come together? Get married, pair off? You obviously are aware of how it works with humans from Earth. You told me that would be how it works with us, but it does not sound as though you -- "

He couldn't continue. Her expression as he spoke became one of such pained longsuffering. But then it changed again, and he watched her go back to calm concern. "My father had no time or opportunity to consider other options. He gave up his career to stay here with my mother. You would have helped us, even if we were not -- you are that kind of man, you help others and you right wrongs."

"I understand this, but I am asking about you," he replied. "Why you didn't tell me that you chose me and that you would not have other opportunities."

"Choose," she said. "I have no choice. I did not want one."

"You have a choice, of course you do," he blurted, unable to contain it.

"Why are you trying to keep me from making the choice that I do have?" she asked softly.

"What choice is that?"

She stared at him -- with good reason. It was the first time he'd snapped at her. "I wanted to give you the time you needed to make the decision to be with me, or not, as you wish. I don't want to demand anything of you. I'm sure that I will be fine, if you decided not to marry me. If I don't come back to Betazed I might approach the Federation about becoming one of their diplomats. It's obvious that the Federation has different policies -- you have a Klingon aboard, the Klingons are not members of the Federation."

"Worf was adopted by Federation citizens after his parents were killed, so he's a citizen. Although you might be able to -- " He ground to a halt and sat in utter disbelief for a moment. "If I decided not to marry you. Would you then go find someone else to marry? Or would you be alone for the rest of your life?"

"You should answer the question first," she said. "Would you remain single?"

That wasn't where he'd expected her to take the conversation. "I have been single and have never planned otherwise. In the one instance where I considered... I left Earth, for Starfleet, and I haven't been back and I have no firm plans to go back. I had a singular experience due to a probe from Kataan, in which I lived out the experience of having a family and it was enough to make me wish...."

"What?" she prompted after a few moments.

"I was a good husband, a good father. But this is what I am," he gestured at his uniform, "in the reality I inhabit, I am an officer. I don't know how to be anything else for very long. I don't know what it is that drew you to me."

"Does it matter what drew us together if we are happy together?"

It was hard to stay on point, when she was smiling at him that way. He leaned back, ran his hands down his face, moaning, and to his shock she dropped to a knee and started pulling off his boot.

"What... are you doing?" he asked, as calmly and carefully as he could, instead of pulling away.

"We don't wear shoes in the house. I neglected to inform you so I am taking care of it myself." She took his boots and went over to put them on the floor near a door, with some other shoes collected there on a mat.

It triggered memories of Eline scolding him about his shoes, and sent him reeling. Covering his hands with his eyes, he felt lost. Adrift and wholly overwhelmed.

"Jean-Luc?"

The concern was the last straw. He moaned.

"Would you like to walk on the beach? It's a beautiful evening."

"I don't understand why you chose me," he said. Finally, he opened his eyes. She stood there in the see-through gold mesh sheath looking down at him with worry in her eyes.

"I didn't choose you. I saw you, and I can't deny it or change it. I'd like you to stop being upset and enjoy being here with me but if you would rather -- "

He came up from the chair and kissed her. She didn't flinch or react adversely to his hands on her shoulders. In fact, she moved in against him, into his arms, and put her arms around his neck. It was an amazing kiss. She responded to his hands sliding down her back by moving a hand to crawl in between his shirt and his pants, sliding up his chest.

"This is nice," she murmured. "We could go upstairs."

"I don't -- I think -- there are -- "

Her hand caressed his thigh, brushed against his erection through the pants, and it was obvious that she knew more about this than he had expected her to. "We have plenty of time to talk."

"I don't understand," he said, as she tugged him toward the back of the room to a stairwell in the corner. At the top of the stairs, he saw that the upper floor was like the lower, banks of windows all around -- a skylight above showed an impressive view of a lenticular cloud. She pulled his shirt up, and he helped her pull it over his head.

This time it was her, kissing him. The mesh was barely there; he could feel her nipples against his chest. He rolled it gently down to her hips, and she pushed it further down and off, stepping out of it. Somewhere, what was left of the rational part of him screamed out a warning, that this was probably more of a complication than he wanted or needed at this point. When she put her hands to his face and kissed him again that went away.

They were climbing into the bed, a large one covered with soft, pale blue blankets -- the cool smoothness of them added to the sensory overload of having her body sliding along his, when it occurred to him to wonder how a woman who had no experience knew how to make him groan. She wasn't shy about touching his body, and let him touch her as he would -- smiled as he moved his hand down the back of her thigh. She leaned in to kiss him and rolled back to sprawl on the bed invitingly.

She held his gaze for a moment. The hunger in her eyes removed the last shred of doubt and he shoved his pants off, kicking them aside, moving toward her -- nothing about her suggested a blushing virgin. She moved with him, kissed him, touched him without hesitation, encouraged him. Moved against him, even ran her hand along his penis when it brushed her thigh. Until he started to move in, and found her very tight indeed.

"I don't -- "

"Jean-Luc. Do you love me?"

He stared at her, curls in disarray around her head on the pillow. "Yes. But you know -- "

"I know that when you want something to happen, you do everything in your power to make it happen," she said. "I'm not worried about the future."

"I know." He rolled on his back, pulling her over with him, and she settled awkwardly astride one of his thighs. Pushing his hand between them, he brushed his fingertips along her labia and then slowly in, and found that such contact electrified her. Tossing her hair aside, she started kissing him again, while he enjoyed what he was doing to make her squirm. She sounded surprised when she clenched around his three fingers.

She wasn't entirely sure what to make of it when he grabbed her hips but went along with it, getting the idea rapidly when he had her positioned over him -- this time, she was well lubricated and the slow insertion was only agonizing because it was slow. She laughed, and quickly proved she was nothing but trouble, enthusiastic to the point that he had to beg her not to hurt him, and then to stop.

"When it's done it goes limp like that," he said, then felt absolutely ridiculous for having to say it. At least she let go and rolled away from him, bouncing and wriggling and getting comfortable with her head on his shoulder. And then he reached over to drag up one of the blankets to cover them.

"I suppose we should have talked about it," she mumbled at length.

"You weren't being very talkative."

"So, when I move too far in any direction it hurts? Except the one. Was there something else -- "

"Deanna, relax."

She seemed to, but as she was laying against him, he could tell there was still tension in her body. He kissed the top of her head. It seemed to help.

"I wish I had my abilities," she murmured.

"I hope that you make a full recovery."

Deanna made a soft sound and seemed to want to burrow into his skin. She pressed her face against his chest and sighed. "I love you, Jean-Luc."

He held her for a while, and didn't want to get up. This was reminiscent of being at home in Ressik with Eline -- the only time in his life that he'd actually been comfortable while relaxing in a bed with someone, and that had taken practice. He almost fell asleep, but then it became clear that he wouldn't get to nap just yet.

"Do you have a bathroom?"

It was downstairs, and it resembled any other example of such a facility he'd ever been in. He stared at his reflection in the small round mirror over the washbasin, and sighed. Then he glanced at the counter as he washed his hands. She had impressive collections of jewelry, hairpieces and other adornments he wasn't certain about. There were small shells around the dish of hair clips, probably from the beach.

He returned to the bed, found her embracing the pillow he'd been using and asleep, and watched the corner of her mouth move a little, just a little, into a faint smile. Instead of returning to where he'd been, he slipped under the blanket and moved in behind her to pull her into his arms.

"Hi," she murmured happily.

"Where is your favorite place?"

"Hmmmm. There's a cove down on the shore... the birds will come perch on your hand, and the water is so warm."

"We should go there. Take some footage -- I can have Data create a program for the holodeck. And anywhere else you want to take with you, so you'll have a way of visiting while you're abroad."

Twisting in his arms, she smiled -- he had a brief impression of bliss before she kissed him again. Then she burrowed again, this time pushing her face against his. "Tomorrow we'll go sightseeing. I'll show you around."

"Deanna," he began, then lapsed into uncertainty.

"What?"

"If... never mind."

"You can ask me. Whatever it is."

"I was just wondering, if you hadn't found anyone before me -- if you -- was this your first time?"

"Yes. I know that it was not yours. I hope it was adequate."

He laughed, mostly out of tension and the shock of that statement, from her. She wasn't being insecure about it; she was as matter of fact as ever. "I don't think about it that way. I think that it is more enjoyable with someone you love. That can be hard to find, for someone like me. You have nothing to be worried about, Deanna." He couldn't see her face but it seemed she took it well enough.

"My father actually did warn me about officers, before I came aboard. But I suspect he thought I would be uncomfortable with being propositioned, as your first officer seemed to want to do. He said that sometimes officers could be promiscuous, which is foreign to Betazoids. But I have no interest in such behavior."

"I thought that might be the case."

"I'm glad we did this," she whispered. "Even if you didn't want to marry me."

Another reason to be glad, that she was currently not empathic. He closed his eyes and tried not to show how much he wanted to cringe. "I want to work this out, somehow. Please don't sound like you've lost hope."

"You do?" The joy in those words was almost worse than the fear in her previous statement.

He rolled on his back as his shoulder was falling asleep, and when she readjusted to be comfortable with him, an arm across his chest and her cheek on his shoulder again as she purred and settled in, he pushed her hair back behind her ear and put his arms around her.

"Tell me about... was it Kataan? About having a family?"

"They don't exist. The civilization is gone, thousands of years ago their sun went nova. They knew it was happening and left behind a probe, with a record of their lives -- it was designed to project the experiences of a man named Kamin into the mind of someone who discovered it. We discovered it. It only took twenty minutes for it to transmit a lifetime of memories -- raising children and learning to build -- well, it was functional furniture. I can't claim it was very pretty."

"It sounds like artificial telepathy. I have many experiences in my memory that are not mine. Some of sexual encounters, though not ones with humans. There are minor differences. And I think you might have your own preferences, which you can teach me. What was your wife's name, in the memory?"

"Eline. The only thing you have in common is being bossy."

"Bossy," she echoed. "My father calls it being assertive."

"Same thing." Close enough, anyway. "I fought the probe for nearly two years. I fought the life they were trying to give me. I fought against the concept of being married to a woman I had never met and in a house I had never seen before, in a village filled with people I didn't know. I fought the loss of the starship and the crew, knew that life had been real, knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt -- she tolerated it until I started to feel guilty that she was being so understanding. And then I gave in. We had children. I -- loved them, more than anything or anyone I'd ever -- and then the simulation ended. And I woke up on the bridge, to confused officers. I had to go through the process of adjusting all over again to life on the ship. The counselor tried to help me, but in the end it was just grieving, because they were gone."

"You're still sad about it. I'm sorry," she said.

"It's a very old pain, so it's not bad. I have considered, here and there, trying to find someone... but there's been this war, keeping us on our toes."

"The one that just ended?"

"If I didn't know better, I might suspect you ended it just so I might feel better about having a family aboard."

She raised her head, some of her messy hair sliding down into a curtain as she looked down at him. "Is that an option?"

"It is, actually."

"My father said that it wasn't, for Starfleet officers on ship duty."

"It wasn't when he was aboard one. The _Enterprise_ is different. But I'm not sure you would enjoy that option, since you wouldn't have a job to do... unless you worked in the school. Or we convinced Starfleet that I needed a diplomatic envoy aboard."

"You would like that?" She sounded hopeful yet again.

"We should talk about it after we get to Earth, and we're able to talk directly to the admirals at Command."

She was studying him speculatively. "I want you to think about it."

That was an order, certainly. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Mam?"

"An honorific."

"Which kind?"

"The respectful kind, that one uses to address a lady."

"A lady," she echoed. "I wonder if you are using the word in a manner that's different than I understand it."

He thought about his father and his mother, their little anachronistic village, and smiled. "That's going to be nearly as difficult to explain as religion, I think."


	11. Chapter 11

"Good morning sir!"

So much for getting back into his quarters quietly, Picard thought. He stopped short of his door and turned. "Good morning, Number One."

"Did you enjoy the visit? What's it like, on Betazed?" Will had that annoying ear-to-ear grin that said he was amused as hell and didn't care who knew it. 

"You'll have an opportunity to find out. She's inviting the senior staff down for lunch. It's a beautiful house." It would be fairly early in the morning at the house, by lunchtime, but at least it would be daylight. 

"I hope you'll bring her to the party tonight, seeing she's the one who stopped the war we're celebrating the end of," Will exclaimed.

"Ending a sentence with a preposition is against regulations," Picard exclaimed, rather than address the matter of the party. He'd forgotten about it, not mentioned it at all -- there had been other things to talk about.

Will unfortunately followed him into his quarters. "Is everything all right?"

"As much as it could be. We talked." He was calmer, but had awakened with more misgivings in his head. The only thing he wasn't worried about was untimely fatherhood; he had always stayed current on his sickbay visits and believed in prevention.

"Does she have a garden? Sorry, you smell a little more... floral than usual?"

"There are quite a few flowers blooming around her house, yes." She'd also pulled him into the bathtub with her, not that he had complained so much. She liked a particular kind of perfumed soap. "Anything of note happen while I was gone?"

"No, sir. I introduced Ian to Mr. Data, and we took him to dinner in Ten Forward, where he was quite taken with Guinan. And Dr. Crusher."

"Good. I'm going to change into a clean uniform for the day, if you'll excuse me."

Will departed for the bridge. Picard showered, and debated whether the bruise he'd gotten on his arm while rolling around with the enthusiastic enchantress was worth a visit to sickbay. He decided not. No sense in stoking Beverly's curiosity any more than usual. 

He was on his way out the door again -- as it opened, he almost walked into Deanna. She wore a dark green dress that he had expressed approval of, when they had dressed just an hour ago. "Good morning," he said automatically. He smiled, a bit startled by her appearance at his door, and wondered if he might be removing the uniform again shortly.

Her fond smile and the lights in her eyes made him smile more. But she said, "My father would like you to come to breakfast. I would have used the computer to contact you but I have no badge."

"You can always just ask it to contact me, but I'll see that both of you are issued guest badges as well since you'll be aboard for a while. I want to check with the bridge, but I can come. Will you be in his quarters or yours?"

"His. We're just sitting down to coffee."

"I'll be along shortly."

There were no messages from Fitz, or anyone of real importance, and everything was quiet as usual -- Tasha asked him if he would be at the party, so once again he sidestepped. He didn't care for parties, which he supposed was a sign of growth. Earlier in his life he'd been all about living life to the fullest, wine, women and song. 

He knew Will had put Ian down the corridor from his daughter so only asked the computer when he'd left the lift. When he was admitted, the two of them were seated at the dining table and waiting for him. Deanna smiled as she took a pastry from a plate in the middle of the table. She'd provided croissants, and a few other oddments, and a bowl of whole fruits. A pot of coffee. She'd taken a page from Picard's breakfast habits. 

"Good morning, Mr. Troi," he exclaimed. 

From the look on Ian's face, he'd been told. "I have a bone to pick with you, sir," he said sternly.

Deanna frowned. "Daddy!"

"This man listened to me lecture his first officer, in an attempt to shoo him off, and all the while he was the one I should have worried about," Ian exclaimed with a flourish of his hand. 

"I wasn't aware that was your intent. Will Riker didn't need the lecture, actually," Picard said as he selected an empty cup and poured himself coffee. "He was somewhat interested initially, but fortunately he's smarter than that." Which was, he supposed, a sort of backhanded self-deprecating commentary, but there it was.

"You shouldn't posture, you know it makes no difference," Deanna said. 

"I suppose not. But you should have told me," Ian scolded, waving his finger at Picard. He sighed heavily, and took a bite of a scone. "Although it was right about the point you got that summons from the bridge that you appeared to finally figure it out. I suppose I can't entirely blame you."

"I can be dense, in these matters," Picard said mildly. "I'm an officer without a lot of other experience."

"I had no such excuse. I'm from a large family, and I was going to be a doctor before I came down with a bad case of Starfleet wanderlust. I popped out of the Academy into space, and the next thing I know there were these eyes, and that smile -- what a wild ride," Ian exclaimed.

"Why do you pretend warning anyone makes any difference?" Deanna asked. She was tenacious, if it was important to her.

"You're forgetting that humans believe in change, self control, and having enough information to understand the situation," Ian said. He paused, studying his daughter. "Are you all right?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Just -- something different about you today."

Deanna smiled at him. "Maybe I'm happy, instead of worrying about what I'm doing today. I stopped at the office and informed Sima that I would be leaving soon. I'm considering asking Omisan to take my place."

"You're happy about leaving the position you've held for twenty years," Ian half-asked. He picked up an apple and took a bite.

"I am. Nomi cried, when I told her. But she was very happy for me, it's always distressed her that I never married."

Picard almost dropped his coffee, as that sank in. She'd mentioned the varying attitudes of other Betazoids toward her for being half human. Being single for years without any sign of a soulmate or any explanation for his absence must have resulted in ongoing commentary. 

Then what she had said ran through the filter again, and he almost dropped the cup again. "How do Betazoids marry?"

"Oh," Ian said quietly. He glanced back and forth between them, not surprised, almost dreading. But before he could go on, she responded.

"It doesn't matter," she said, with the same nonchalance as before. "You aren't -- "

"Your friend was happy for you because you told her you were married. Because on a world where you simply know, and everyone knows, that another person is your one and only, why would there be a formal ceremony? Betazoids don't need formal contracts."

Deanna gazed at him with that imperious lofty expression that had earned her the nickname that Will kept bringing up. "It doesn't matter. You don't have to adhere to -- "

"I understand, I do, Deanna, you want me to have a choice. You want me to be happy with that choice. But you aren't telling me everything and that limits my ability to make an informed choice. If you really expect me to make the choice you're trying to give me I should know more than I do about you."

That seemed to cause her a moment of distress. Ian, who'd frozen in his chair for the duration, reached over to put a hand on her arm. "Maverick, listen to me here -- you are thinking like a Betazoid. Listen to the man about this. He's not wrong. We don't function well without information, you need to be very forthcoming about this. Don't do what your mother did and start fighting about it, you'll be happier if you just sit down for a few hours and do your best to play anthropologist for a while on the Betazoid culture."

"You said that you would have appreciated having the same choices any human has," she exclaimed. "I don't want to pressure him by overwhelming him with everything all at once."

Ian looked at the ceiling and held up both hands. "This is the problem -- you want to approach a relationship as if it's a good story revealed a little bit at a time. But there are some crucial bits that humans need to have up front, we don't have the same magical sense of someone that helps us see that person is exactly who we expected them to be. Betazoids get to know someone after you trust them, we humans can't trust without getting to know you. You have to give him some of the information he needs so he's able to trust you -- he's going to feel lost without it."

"I'm not sure I understand," she said. "I'm going to go think about this." She got up and left without another word.

"She's easier to talk to about these things than her mother was," Ian said. "But I know she's really upset when she fails to be polite and say good bye."

"I had hoped to speak with you privately," Picard said.

"Yes. Especially now that you married my daughter." Ian poured himself more coffee.

"Well, that would be another thing to discuss, but not the one I originally had in mind. Admiral Fitzgerald asked me to relay to you his request to meet with you."

"Fitzgerald? Now, who did I know by that name?" Ian tapped on the table thoughtfully. "Jerry Fitzgerald?"

"Fitz," Picard said.

"Yes," Ian exclaimed triumphantly. "He wanted to be Fitz, instead of Gerald Fitzgerald. That's right. Cruel parents, poor guy."

"Indeed. My concern, however, is that he and the other admirals are going to pressure you as they have pressured me -- to help in the cause of convincing Betazed to be a member of the Federation."

Ian frowned. "I guess you and I have a lot of work to do."

"We do?"

"We can't help them do that, for one thing. If they can't leave the Betazoids alone, and they put more pressure on them, they'll leave. Then Deanna won't be able to go home again. She should be able to do that, if she wants, I'm sure you'll agree with that."

"Wait -- what do you mean, the Betazoids will leave?"

Ian looked up as he plucked a pear out of the fruit bowl. "They did it before. Lwaxana told me all about it. They used to be way over on the other side of the Alpha Quadrant, closer to the Klingon Empire. They were continually harrassed by the species over there -- the Klingons have a way of inspiring people to be trigger happy, evidently. So they moved their world and themselves to where they currently reside. It's already come up -- the last time a Federation delegation showed up, some of Deanna's fellow governors started to suggest that might be necessary. They really didn't care for Captain Fordham. Felt that he represented a trend of brashness that suggested the Federation's general culture might be shifting for the worse. I had to remind them via Deanna that individuals in the non-telepathic worlds are not necessarily representative of everyone in the Federation."

"The Betazoids moved to another world just to get away from violent species?"

Ian stopped chewing and stared at him. "No, Captain -- they moved their world. With the power of their minds, they translocated the planet to another similar star. From what I've been told it gave everyone a pretty good headache, and some lives were lost, but that was what they decided to do. Think about millions of people who love peace and quiet, sharing consciousness a fair bit of the time, surrounded by warriors and the pain they inflict. Betazoids do not like chaos and war and pain. It's why they push themselves to take care of situations like the Cardassians and the Federation at war."

Picard thought about that with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach -- and that led to remembering Deanna, the last time he'd felt that way, sounding distressed because he was starting to think about her as just another species to encounter. That led to another conclusion that he did not like at all.

"This may seem an odd question, given the circumstances," Picard began. "But I wonder if you have any insight into the possibility that Betazoids may be able to influence the feelings or thoughts of people they are talking to, to make them feel comfortable in their presence?"

Ian's complete lack of surprise did not reassure. "When you met her it was as though you were speaking your own special language to each other," he said. "You didn't mind spending hours with her, didn't think about what that might look like to anyone else. It wasn't that she put thoughts in your head or did anything to manipulate you. They really don't want to do that. It's that they have a way of easing your mind about them, because they really are in touch with the life force of the universe. They really are that grounded and aware. It's subtle. You can fight it -- but then she senses that you are and it distresses her, because you're pulling away and her instinct is to ground herself in you, because you are her one person in the galaxy. I should have met with you along with her -- I can see the difference in her. Before you came to Betazed she was happy, calm, quiet, but firm. Sometimes timid, because she's half human and the rest of Betazed looks at her as if she is less than, because she had no one. Blamed it on the mixed parentage. Implied it makes her human, not Betazoid. And the look in your face, that anger, says that you like that as much as I do. And now -- sitting here in the room with you she has an ease about her that she's not had at all, anywhere. She doesn't want to take me to Earth for me, much as I appreciate the opportunity and look forward to seeing my surviving sister and brother. She wants me to go there because she doesn't want to leave me here, with them, alone. She is making herself available to be with you -- insisting that you'll have a choice is her attempt to make peace with it herself, she's hated that expectation everyone's put on her, hated that she's looked down upon because she has no mate. And it isn't even their fault. The natural order of things on Betazed is such that they really can't see that they are being judgmental of her. That's the human way of viewing it. We're more individual than they are, we're more sensitive to it, so she is."

"She hates being forced into this by her nature," Picard said, feeling the dread coalesce in the bottom of his stomach.

"I got the call from her, to let me know that she was going with you -- she also told me that it finally happened," Ian said with a sad shake of the head. "She didn't tell me that it was you, specifically. I know it was upsetting to her. She was crying. But then she told me that you were exactly the kind of man she'd always hoped to find, that she thought she would be happy if you chose -- I'm sorry, Captain."

"It's nothing to apologize for -- I'm simply wishing that she had some choice in the matter, or that I did. But I have to wonder if the only real reason either of us is suffering at all is that we're both fighting this so much. If simply giving in would be the easiest and happiest choice."

Ian laughed at it -- long and hard, almost sliding from the chair. "Oh, yes. Yes," he said at last, as he subsided. "Yes."

Picard stared at him incredulously. "Yes?"

"After a couple of months of making the hard adjustment to a culture where people wander about mostly nude, in body stockings designed to be cool in a temperate climate while repelling the gnats, and eating their food, and to letting them simply project words into my head -- yes, those years before Lwaxana died were the happiest I've ever had. And she doesn't remember at all, because she was all of seven years old, but Deanna was the only thing that kept me alive for the next seven years. She developed her empathy around fifteen, and I had to be happy -- that took my begging and pleading one of Lwaxana's friends to literally rewrite my brain so I didn't impact her emotional growth with the depression and loneliness. In fact I'm surprised she isn't in here right now, since she's usually sensitive to my moods and just thinking about that period makes me feel low."

"The incident with the Cardassians left her with some brain damage," Picard said. "She's not able to sense anything at the moment." And then he realized belatedly that Deanna hadn't told her father on purpose.

Ian actually started to cry. "Sorry," he mumbled. "When they told me about it, they said she had survived -- thank goodness they didn't tell me until they had that information, I think I would have died right then, thinking she was gone. But she survived -- Ginoan said, without even meaning it as demeaning, that it was likely due to her mixed parentage, that she wasn't fully Betazoid so she was channeling less power -- something along those lines. I stopped listening at some point. Her mother died that way, to protect us, and she -- almost had to as well. Because she volunteered for this and discovered what the Cardassians were doing."

The door opened, and both of them looked up -- Deanna had returned. She appeared less upset than when she'd left. "Can I talk to you, Jean-Luc?"

"Yes, of course," he said, rising to his feet. "We should go to the holodeck later, Ian. And you should call me by name, please."

"Of course. I'll be here whenever you're ready, trying every damned thing in the replicator that I've missed over the past five decades and gaining weight. Chocolate -- that's the ticket. Computer, give me a cup of hot chocolate."

They left him specifying which of the dozens of kinds of hot chocolate, and went two doors down to her quarters. He followed her inside. "Are you feeling better?"

She shook her head and paced, instead of sitting down, which he thought was a bad sign. After the door closed behind him, she turned to look at him again. "I'm not sure how to explain things the way you want me to," she said. It was another bad sign that she couldn't seem to look at him. As if she expected rejection, or anger.

"And I'm not sure what I'm doing is the right thing," he said. "I beamed down last night intending to have a serious talk with you to get the information I needed, and that didn't work at all. I think that I shall have to concede. I don't believe this is going to work at all the way we wanted it to."

"I understand," she managed, before starting to cry in earnest, raising a hand to her mouth and turning away.

"I think the only way it will work is if we simply accept that we love each other," he went on, softly. "Because I don't want you to leave. And I do think you can explain the things I need you to explain, if you aren't thinking in the back of your mind while you are doing it that any of it would cause me to reject you."

He almost didn't see her coming. She whirled and lunged across the room, into his arms, and fortunately he braced in time to avoid both of them stumbling backward into the corridor through the door. Then he had to hold her while she sobbed in relief and recovered.

There were so many things that needed to be resolved. He found that though this had seemed the most complicated, it actually set him at ease to have her smiling and happy in his arms. It probably wasn't going to be that simple, as so few things in his life ever were, but it was nice to think that it might just be, in this instance.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picard commented in Pen Pals that he'd thought Betazoids should be good with training animals. I think he was right. Because why would Betazoids be so easily overwhelmed by something they surely had plenty of practice tolerating?

"Are you okay, Jean-Luc?"

For the luncheon at her house, Deanna had stipulated that they were to be in casual dress, no uniforms. She had introduced everyone to the layout of the grounds and invited them to eat, drink, explore and enjoy the afternoon. Data had taken Picard's request to use the holographic camera to memorialize the house and its surroundings quite seriously, and Geordi was helping him. Tasha and Will had opted to explore the beach.

Beverly wore a sage tunic over her uniform pants, giving lip service to the casual dress requirement, and held a plate of tiny items from the larger collection of appetizers on the table. She'd come in from a visit to the beach with the others and found him staring out the window at the view, deep in thought. Picard considered dismissing her concern.

"On the one hand," she continued, when the pause drew out too long, "she looks at you like you light up all the stars in her sky. And you seem happy when she's in a tight orbit, but you're standing up here brooding over the landscape for some reason."

"I'm married, apparently. I'm sure you could understand that I take that quite seriously."

It was so rewarding to shock her. She took a step backward, raised her slender, manicured brows, and stared, waiting for the punchline, and when it didn't come she inhaled deeply, rolled her eyes, and started to laugh. "My god, what parallel universe is this?"

"I believe Ian said it best. Betazoids find their significant other, their eyes meet, and then they consider themselves mated for life. Quite the opposite of the general practice among most human communities. Certainly not what I've ever anticipated for myself, startling and improbable, but that's what Starfleet seems to bring to my table on a regular basis."

"She couldn't expect you to just go along with this," Beverly murmured. "She's not ignorant of human ways."

"No, she didn't expect it, but I'm accepting this as it is."

"You sound like you have some doubt -- maybe you should be talking to her about this."

"It's not exactly that -- not exactly her. There's the expectations of the admirals. Starfleet wants me to give them a report that leads to Betazed joining the Federation. I don't think that's a good idea. I need more information, and the more I get the less I want it to happen. It has the potential to affect her."

"Do you think there's more to the Betazoids that they are hiding from you?" Beverly asked.

"I don't think 'hiding' is the correct term. They simply are. If we had the ability to understand, to comprehend what isn't visible to the eye, this would all come clearer -- would have been reported and taken into account decades ago. I think she's struggling to put things into our terms, because we literally have no words and the Betazoid side of her knows this." He watched Deanna walking up the beach with Riker and Yar, away from the house. Deanna turned and looked up at them -- even from where they stood her smile was visible, and she waved once then turned and kept walking.

"Sounds like we need telepaths to come here. Not Vulcans, I listened to a couple of Setok's logs, he was disapproving of the Betazoids in general and I have to wonder if that had something to do with sensing something about them that his logical mind resisted. Selar was in sickbay when Deanna was there, and though she's usually a tad warmer with crew than one would expect a Vulcan to be, she seemed... I almost hesitate to say uncomfortable, maybe ill at ease is a better way to say it. Send in some Ullians, or some other sensitive types. Maybe a mix of several. Find someone more compatible with Betazoids."

"That's not a bad idea." He sighed, pressing his thumbs against either side of the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I have been caught up in this in my own head for too long. We should have a staff meeting and discuss it."

"You're afraid of revealing personal information, I'm guessing, or you'd have done it already. But we all know you're in love, silly man," Beverly exclaimed, setting aside the plate and slipping her arm around him. The affectionate half-hug surprised him. "You know we're going to keep it professional out of respect for you. Just tell us and let us help."

Picard put his arm around his friend and stood there with her for a bit, thinking about Jack. It was strange, how far he'd come over the years. He'd been so uncomfortable with the easy affection between his friends, and now this simple contact felt natural and completely platonic.

"I guess she's the right one," Beverly said.

"What?"

"You're not questioning that she is. In spite of your spartan, officer lifestyle with no hint of a thought of having a spouse, here you are with one. Simply accepting this, where you ran from it before. Believing it's true despite resisting the opportunities you've had in the past."

"Opportunities?"

"There's that focus, that determination that it would never work. Couldn't even see how to work it out with anyone. But it sounds like you're going to this time."

"Maybe I'm finally aware of the perils of wasting too much time in futile attempts to avoid the obvious. Do you want to go join the others?"

When they got down to the beach, they had to walk another quarter mile along it to find them. There was a ring of flattish brown rocks and Riker, Yar, LaForge, and Data were there, using them as seats. As they arrived Wesley came jogging over from the opposite side of the beach, breathless from his exertion.

"You should see it," he shouted.

"See what?" Beverly asked, clearly amused and happy that her boy was so exuberant. She had been concerned about him lately, probably still going through the phase where her little boy who told her everything wasn't so confiding as he used to be.

"She can call out the animals, you should see it," Wes exclaimed.

"What?" Yar replied.

"I suppose it makes sense -- if Betazoids can do all the other things they seem to be able to do, why not talk to animals?" Will said.

"If you feed birds on Earth, they'll learn to trust you and land on your hand," Picard said. "My mother used to do that." Deanna had already shown him how the birds would come and perch on her fingers. She'd been feeding them as they did it, on the deck of her house.

"Oh, this is way better than birds," Wes said with a grin. There were rhythmic thuds growing louder, as he spoke. He turned and gestured behind him, then moved into the ring of benches out of the way.

The creature was so tall -- it was roughly the size and color of a Clydesdale, though the head was less streamlined and instead of a white stripe it had a dark splotch over its face, others on the muscular haunches and around the slender legs. It reminded him more of a stag than a horse; it had two curved horns pointing straight back, and large rounded ears. Deanna was perched on its shoulders, looking down at them. Her hair had fallen out of the clips and she looked young and innocent, carefree, full of joy.

"Do you ever ride animals, on Earth?" she asked them.

Most of them turned to Picard with grins -- everyone knew of his fondness for riding. "We do," he replied, rising from his rock to gesture at the thing. "Is this a domesticated creature?"

"Oh, that would be sad," she exclaimed. "Why would we do that to the poor creatures? Would you like to come along?"

"I -- " Before he could finish, another creature arrived, this one bigger than the first. Picard stepped around the end of a stone bench, unsure what to do, and the creatures responded by sidling in either direction. The second one dropped to a knee obligingly. "I guess I'm going riding," he said over his shoulder to his staff. "Unless you want to go, Number One?"

"You go," Will said with a grin. "We're feeding the birds." Since they had neither food nor birds present, he was obviously lying.

"Have fun," LaForge called out.

He approached the animal cautiously; it flicked an ear at him. Deanna's mount sidled closer, and she pointed at the extended leg. "He wants you to step there -- he's expecting it."

Using the bony leg as a step, Picard climbed up and sat astride the broad, velvety shoulders. When he was seated the creature lurched upwards and then paused, until he was settled again. It occurred to him that there might be a sensitivity in Betazoid animals that had evolved on the same world as the people with such strong telepathy, and that seemed to prove out, as Deanna's animal turned and his started to follow without any communication from either of them.

The rolling lope of the creature was not so smooth as a horse's but he was able to ride without feeling insecure, though he felt awkward not having much to do with his hands. They headed down the beach and at a spot where a stream flowed into the sea, turned up the stream and trotted in and around the rocks along the side of the stream. It was freeing and somewhat disturbing to have no control over the animal, to be able to watch the scenery go by, as the surefooted deer took him up the stream and into a large valley surrounded by mountains. The animals stopped side by side eventually and drank together from a pool in the stream.

"Are the animals part of the greater consciousness?" he asked.

She nodded, pulling her hair back and gathering it in a knot. "Do you like it?"

"I'm accustomed to controlling the animal. This is very different. Amazing, this landscape, it's incredible -- it appears untouched."

"We leave most of the planet this way. There are so many creatures to see. I never get to see those on other worlds, I'm looking forward to visiting some of the preserves on Earth." She was beautiful, seated on the great chestnut deer, and obviously enjoying herself. "I'm glad you enjoy riding."

"We can ride horses, in the holodeck."

"Do you have Western stories in your list of programs? Daddy used to read me stories about cowboys when I was a child." The creatures waded through the pool, starting to trot again as they left the water on the other side. It was impossible to talk while they were in motion. Deanna's mount started to canter, then run, then started to leap and bound forward like a deer, proving his assumption correct. His animal followed suit and he had an entirely new movement to adjust to, though after the first few bounds it started to canter again, possibly sensing his unease with that gait.

Eventually they turned around and headed back through the valley, down the stream, to the beach, where Deanna slid down from her deer and hugged its head in thanks. He dropped from the shoulders of the beast and patted its shoulder, and watched it stand and back away to follow its companion back into the trees.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You seem a little uncomfortable?"

"It's not the kind of riding I'm accustomed to, I'm sore. We can walk it off."  He started to hobble down the sand with her toward the house. "Wesley said you were calling animals to you."

"Not today, I'm still not quite myself. But they come to me as they always do because they know me. The _majesa_ are very fond of me."

They reached the stone circle and found everyone was gone. After slowly climbing up the long flight of steps they discovered no one in the house, either. "Probably beamed up, when we didn't come back -- it's been a long time since we left," he commented, looking at the table. More of the food had been eaten, and dirty dishes had been cleaned and were drying in the rack near the sink. "I lost track of time."

"That's what Daddy says, when he enjoys something so much he becomes very involved in it." She started to take off the gray jacket she wore. "I'm a bit dusty, I'll go change. Someone is coming."

"Someone?"

"Omi. One of my assistants."

He followed her upstairs, watching her change -- she put on one of her mesh gowns and came to where he stood, put her arms around his waist and kissed him. Then she looked him in the eye, sternly.

"You aren't very happy today. Can I help?"

"I'm worried. Starfleet Command is pressuring me to push for a treaty. They think I have a good rapport with Betazed."

"You don't agree?" She smiled with the insouciance that he knew others would call arrogant. 

"I think there is a gap, between the two mindsets. A misunderstanding. I'm having difficulty putting a finger on it."

"I like where you have your fingers," she whispered against his cheek. He was cupping her buttocks in his hands -- they'd gotten there without conscious instruction from him, as she stepped into his arms like a shuttle coming home to dock.

"Deanna. What do you think Betazed will do, if the Federation continues to push for a treaty on their terms?"

She stepped away from him -- disappointing in some ways, a relief in others. "They will do what is needed to protect themselves."

"Moving the planet?"

"If they must. It's only been done one time." It struck him that she didn't even question how he understood that. Deanna led him downstairs again, and went to the door -- the front door was at the back against the hillside. A tall man stood there -- he gazed at Picard with open curiosity.

He realized then just how different a Betazoid was, from a human. And decided that Deanna was indeed both Betazoid and human, but in her mannerisms, speech and affect, more human.

"Omi, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard," Deanna said, half-turning to smile at him.

Omi was thinner; the mesh outfit showed off a body that he thought might belong to a young man in his twenties. "Hel-lo," he said with a nervous smile. He was quite well endowed and had a tan. 

"Omi, what do you have for me?" Deanna said patiently.

A few moments of silence ensued, then a short conversation in what was the most terse and rapid language Picard had ever heard. He had his comm badge with him and the universal translator was doing nothing. And then Omi was leaving.

"He's never seen anyone from off world before," Deanna said apologetically. "He came to tell me what's been done at the office, to take care of my things and to see to the properties of the Fifth House -- I'm leaving them in trust for my cousins. If I were full Betazoid I could have managed all of it remotely myself and he would not have had to come here to speak to me directly. And now that I have no ability at all it's harder than before."

"Where is your office?"

That startled her. "It's close -- would you like to see it?"

"You said you had some personal things there, to bring aboard. If they are ready to go we could put them in a cargo bay."

And so it was that he found himself putting on his boots, walking out the front door, and up a path that wandered up the ridge behind the house. They emerged from the trees on the other side of the ridge overlooking a gleaming silver city. She led him down the path to a junction with a raised walkway, that crossed to a tall tower in the center of the complex network of buildings. They started to encounter other Betazoids and he found himself being openly scrutinized. His clothing was probably enough to get attention even if he were Betazoid. They reached a door, after passing many doors, going from walkway to building to walkway, and he was starting to wish he'd not asked when she turned and went through one.

The two rooms were spacious but not lavishly decorated. The outer office was inhabited by Omi and one other, a very curvaceous woman in silver mesh. Dark curly hair seemed to be the norm for Betazoids. They turned from a table littered with items they appeared to be sorting into an open box.

"Nomi, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Jean-Luc, this is Nomi -- you met her son Omi." Deanna smiled cheerfully and glanced at the boxes in a corner. "These are my personal things, ready to go."

"I am most happy to meet you," Nomi said in high-pitched enthusiasm that seemed out of proportion to the occasion. "You are very handsome. I like your eyes."

"A pleasure to meet you," Picard said, trying not to look at her breasts. "How long have you worked for Deanna?"

Nomi stared blankly, leaving him wondering what he'd done wrong. Perhaps she didn't understand as much Standard as had appeared. He looked to Deanna for help.

"Nomi is confused by your reaction to her," Deanna said with an apologetic little smile. "She doesn't understand why you're embarrassed. Or why you are asking about work. Nomi, they do things very differently on Earth. He is being friendly. He thinks that commenting on you would be rude. Come with me, Jean-Luc."

She led him into the next room, which was obviously her own office. Another box sat on the desk, which was otherwise bare. She liked wood grain, apparently, and there were some plants hanging in front of the tinted window.

"So you were saying that I should have complimented her somehow?" 

"Yes, it's common when meeting someone to compliment them. It's my fault. I'm sorry. I haven't been thinking -- I should have explained more." She walked around the desk, around the room, restless. "I'm not being very kind to you. I'm nervous. It's so strange to be here and not sense anything. Maybe it's good that we're going to Earth. If this is a permanent change -- " 

When she started to wipe at her eyes and turn away, he went after her, just as he'd been trained to do by Eline. She accepted his embrace with a sob, but quieted quickly.

"You might have to tell me when you aren't feeling well. I'm doing my best to notice, but I think like any diplomat you are adept at hiding when you're upset."

"I'm not used to talking about me."

A bark of laughter escaped him. "Oh, well. You'll find out, if you spend much time with Beverly, that this is the most ironic and humorous situation I've encountered -- trust me that it can be learned. I need you to tell me these things. When you are worried, or sad. This is one of those important things for me. I can't sense anything and it's too important for me to feel good about guessing." 

"I'll try to remember. I usually go riding alone when I'm upset."

"You can continue to do that. I do that as well -- we can go together."

She leaned on him, obviously quite comfortable in his arms. "I'd like that."

"When we go aboard, we'll need to apologize to them for disappearing. I know they are self sufficient enough but it's not really polite to take off for hours and leave guests."

"Oh." That distressed her again; she pulled away and looked tired. "Now I feel even worse... I was caught up in the experience. It was the first time I went riding without feeling connected to Betazed, and it was very different -- I think I was only connecting just a little with the one I was riding, and that's very strange."

"So you say some of the time you're disconnected, but some of the time you aren't?"

She made a face. "It's hard to describe. My father thought that it sounded like diving in deep water. When Mother or others we know tried to describe it to him, that's what it made him think of, diving through layers of water in different temperatures, and some water can be the same temperature as your body so you don't perceive the water in the same way. There's the cognitive level, and several layers of emotional connectivity -- complexity in feelings that not all organisms have. And then there is a level of basic physical awareness, which is where I connect with the beasts. There is a bottom layer, that I think connects the universe and everything in it. It's like a very low pitched hum. I still feel it there, if I become very still myself. It's what connects us across the galaxy when I am far from Betazed -- the conduit through which they sent the intent of Betazed to handle the Cardassians."

Picard considered what that might be like, being in touch with the universe and able to harness that power. It reminded him of Q -- and that was disturbing in its own right. He was tempted to ask if she knew about the Q, but decided to table that question for another time and continue to try to understand more about her. "What about me? How do you experience a human?"

That brought a bright smile that he found encouraging. "I've always liked humans. You have such complexity. Some of you are fascinating in the depths of your own self deception. You, I like very much -- you are so honest and you have a lot of energy and though I think it's not always at the top you have the capacity for such joy."

Something in the way she said that triggered more hunches. "We can change emotions with the situation. I wonder if that is the same for you?"

She went still for a few moments. "Betazoids are less reactive. I can be more so than they, if I am not intentionally connecting to Betazed."

"So you understand what I mean? I remember thinking when we went in that chamber how amazingly calm you were. I wouldn't have been the same -- I wasn't, I had to work hard to put up a front so they wouldn't see my anxiety."

"I don't think Betazoids understand that," she said pensively. "Interesting. I've never thought about that. You're right, they don't react -- I don't, when I am very connected. I always think about the other species, the ones I'm sent to talk to, I think about and analyze how their culture influences them and what they want, why they want it."

"We all have blind spots," Picard said, parroting his most recent counselor. "So humans change with the situation, with their perceptions, which are limited. And Betazoids are less emotionally reactive and more perceptive."

"Are you trying to help Betazed, or the Federation, with these insights?"

"All of the above. Also trying to understand you, since I want to be a good husband. Shall we take these things back to the ship?"


	13. Chapter 13

They were under way sooner than expected. Deanna delegated some of the tasks left to her, surprising Picard. His last official act for the day was to order the ship to warp seven, sector zero zero one. On the one hand, a slower-paced trip to Earth would allow their guests more time to adjust to the changes in their lives. On the other, he'd had a call from another admiral, this time Nechayev, and though she was not giving orders he had dealt with her often enough to know that she wanted Betazed, and why she wanted it. The Cardassians were not her favorite subject, she wanted them dealt with, and she knew, as he did, that the end of the war did not mean the crafty reptiles were no longer an issue. He found himself asking the admiral to wait until they were face to face to discuss it with Ian and Deanna. And he insisted, without giving a reason, because he knew this situation gave him the upper hand in this matter -- he could explain, but he found himself not wanting to, and being short-tempered about it.

Picard used the negotiation of the combining of quarters as an excuse not to attend the party celebrating the end of the war. When Will showed up to nudge him to go as anticipated, he was discussing with Deanna what would stay and what would go -- going through her things in her quarters and prioritizing so she would be able to live in the allotted space he would have, as a married officer. She had decided after reviewing all possibilities to stay aboard with him, and discuss with her father what he wanted. Her original intent was to take him back to England, but he wasn't certain he wanted to be so far from her.

They went to his quarters after a few hours of going through some of the boxes, to take a break for dinner. She had brought back a wealth of information from Betazed's global computer system including recipes, all digitally stored, and Data had been able to create an interface for the Betazoid computer modules and import all of them. So they sat down to replicated Betazoid dishes and he watched her start to show signs of the stress he'd been anticipating. She picked at her food and seemed deep in thought.

"You know you don't have to move in with me right away," he said at last.

Her startled expression suggested complete absorption in whatever she'd been thinking. After a moment she said, "What do you want?"

"I'm open to whatever you are most comfortable doing. I wonder if you are trying to adjust to too much at once. You've just rushed the departure from Betazed, when before you said it would take more time than that."

Her eyes filled with such heartbreak that he started to worry. But she blinked, a few tears slipped from her eyes, and she put down her fork. "It became obvious to me that my contributions to Betazed were not so important to Betazoids as I had believed. Or perhaps the minute they found out I married someone from off planet, I became less important. I was informed that I will not be able to return to Betazed."

That took him aback. "They didn't give a reason? That sounds odd. You most certainly have contributed a great deal to Betazed -- you were willing to give up your life for them!"

She covered her mouth with her hands. It appeared she was losing the battle for a few seconds, but she recovered with an angry shake of the head instead of falling apart. "I can't stop thinking that it's another reflection of how I was generally regarded as inferior. When I was connected to them, directly, I sensed no artifice -- everything was true, I was part of Betazed. I was valued as a member of my world. And suddenly I am not -- I've lost the ability to converse telepathically and they can't tell me if I'll ever get that back. I have a human husband. It isn't the same any more."

"Well, I would like to take you to Starfleet Medical -- there are specialists who work with telepaths, and there are other telepaths in the Federation. I think it may be possible to get your abilities back."

She smiled through tears. "I will hope you're correct. But even if that's possible I don't want to go back to Betazed. If I'm so unimportant that these changes in my life make me unfit, why would I want to? I loved them, and now they won't let me come home." There was so much pain in her voice. He watched her cry and thought about the nature of the hurt -- in essence she had been rejected on a personal level by her entire species, if they had all connected in such harmony.

"You can have a home in the Federation. With me, or without."

Another startled look. "I don't know what I would do without you. I've never felt this way before. I'm so afraid."

That made sense -- having all of Betazed at the back of your mind all your life, and then losing it, on top of moving away from all your friends and your home, must be terrifying. That kind of trauma could be overwhelming. He knew only one way out of it -- focus on the mundane.

"We should finish eating -- have a little wine."

"I'm not really hungry," she murmured. "Just tired."

"We should go to bed early, then." He stood up, and waited; she came to him and he let her cling, put his arms around her and waited for her to move -- when she did it was toward his bedroom, instead of out the door. So that decision was made.

The first night spent with her while aboard the ship was a difficult one, in some ways. He woke several times to find her burrowing, clinging, and comforted her each time. In the morning he stopped his alarm and lay there thinking for a while, until she woke up. 

"You don't have to be on the bridge?" She had puffy eyes and her hair was starting to come out of the braid. 

"We tend to have a relaxed schedule, when traveling at warp. It somewhat makes up for being on duty for days on end, when there's a crisis. Feeling any better?"

For an answer she moved closer and put her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her waist.

"We'll be arriving tomorrow, and we'll meet with the admirals. And then we'll decide what to do on the leave I'm going to ask for. We'll see what we can do for your father, and I'm going to find out what needs to happen for you to be a citizen of the Federation. I know Betazoids don't like formal contracts, but would you consider a civil ceremony to cement the marriage so far as the Federation is concerned?"

She hesitated, and he wondered if that had upset her. But she finally asked, "What is cement?"

He laughed. "What I mean is that the way Betazoids marry won't be recognized as a marriage, in the Federation. It might be if there were actually a treaty in place. But the vast majority of marriages in the Federation have some sort of protocol or ceremony, for me it would be a civil ceremony either performed by a superior officer or by a specific kind of official on Earth."

"Is this important to you?"

Picard thought about that from several angles -- he nearly started to explain the ways that it would be helpful, including granting him the ability to keep her aboard with him for the foreseeable future. But he knew what mattered to her was just what she asked.

"It is important."

"Then that's what we will do," she said, slithering deeper under the covers and closer against his side.


	14. Chapter 14

"Good morning," Picard exclaimed as he entered the observation lounge. For once, he was the last one to arrive. The senior staff was present and accounted for, waiting for him as he strolled to the head of the table to take his customary seat. "ETA, Mr. Crusher?"

"Four hours, sir," Wes said with a grin.

"I will be going to meet with admirals, to debrief. Deanna will go with me. I may invite her father, if he wishes to go -- I feel he has information that would be pertinent to the discussion. Meanwhile, Commander, you can establish a leave schedule -- I intend to obtain two weeks of leave myself to help Deanna and her father. Mr. LaForge, I presume you will be initiating the upgrades we postponed several months ago, when we were called out to the Demilitarized Zone instead of heading for a starbase as scheduled?"

"Yes, sir. I spoke to Commander Dearborn at McKinley Station, he has a berth waiting for us and teams at the ready."

"I'm assuming that includes sickbay?" Beverly's upgrades were even more delayed than engineering.

"Yes, ma'am, we'll have new biobeds in place by the time you get back from Cancun," Geordi exclaimed happily.

"I noticed that they are instituting new uniforms," Data said. "It will take effect in six days."

"We'll be seeing a lot of changes, now that the war is over, no doubt," Picard said. "I want you all to enjoy some time off -- we've all had some challenges, over the past years since the war started. I'm hoping that Starfleet's focus will return to exploration and diplomacy -- much as we find such things a challenge at times."

"Thank you, sir," Riker said. "It's been a while -- anyone want to join me for drinks tonight? Thinking of dropping in at the Mad Andorian on the wharf."

"I'm sure I have other plans," Beverly said, shooting a look at Tasha -- clearly something Picard hadn't heard about must have happened the last time Will had taken some of them out to a bar in San Francisco. Tasha was trying not to laugh.

"I'll look forward to hearing all about your adventures, whether I want to or not," Picard said with the amiable acceptance of the reformed curmudgeon he'd become.

"And we'll ask you about yours, and you'll tell us you enjoyed it," Beverly said. "Whether you did or not."

"I'm so glad we've had this meeting -- think of all the time we've saved having this discussion in advance," Picard said with a smile.

"I hope that you include us in the wedding, sir," Data said.

It was obvious that people had been talking, when he wasn't around. Everyone else froze and did their best to look innocent. Picard shook his head. "You can be assured that I will, if that ever happens, Mr. Data. Anything else, before we adjourn to go send the crew forth to put on tacky shirts and go into the streets to terrorize the population?"

"I need to speak with you privately," Beverly said.

Picard waved them off, and remained in his chair until everyone had gone. Beverly moved to the chair closest to him, which Data had just abandoned. "Mr. Troi came to sickbay last night. We kept him -- he's got a few treatable issues, a couple of mineral deficiencies. Also he has a genetic disorder that usually manifests symptoms after the age of eighty. He knew that was a possibility, as the notes in his Starfleet medical file indicate that the markers were noticed in physical exams early on. He's fine -- we kept him to monitor him through the night, but he can go when he likes. I'm going to do a more thorough exam of her, if she'll allow it. If the Betazoids missed his condition and were doing nothing about it that suggests their medical science is less advanced than ours. They may have missed something -- she's the only hybrid they've had, it appears."

"I would have encouraged her to come do that, anyway. She's very upset. She apparently has been barred from going back to Betazed. I think the separation from them has been traumatizing."

As he predicted, Beverly was scandalized on Deanna's behalf. "After everything she's done? All the times she's gone out to negotiate on their behalf -- almost dying in the last effort? What kind of people are these?"

"I know," he said quietly. "I'm questioning that myself. In the meantime, we can help her adjust. Certainly we're adept at living through trauma ourselves, by this point. Separation from a collective mind is my specialty, after all."

Now she glared at him, but it softened rapidly. "I suppose so. I'll ask her if I can do a follow up scan, see how her healing is progressing -- if she regains some of her empathic ability that might help her stay positive. I'm sure you're doing the best you can to comfort her?"

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. "I try."

"You didn't tell anyone else about being married, did you?"

"I know how changes in life circumstances can alter your perspective. I don't intend to hold her to anything, as it's obvious that she's not going to be thinking clearly for a while. She might change her mind."

"It's obvious you're not really thinking too clearly, either, if you think she could do that. I agree, she's going to be very stressed for a while but she needs you to be there for her."

"I intend to be. Is her father still in sickbay?"

On the way to sickbay, they met Deanna in the corridor. She looked better than she had that morning when he'd left her in bed, but with her hair pulled back in a severe style and no makeup, she looked wan and somehow smaller. "Hi," she said, with a weak smile.

"Are you going to sickbay? I'm coming along," he said, gesturing toward the sickbay door.

She came the last few steps to turn and go through the door with them, and his hand went to her back as they went in. They followed Beverly, and ended up in the small room next to the one Deanna had recently been kept in. Ian was sitting up and reading.

"Daddy," Deanna exclaimed, hurrying over to hug him. When she pulled away she looked at the console mounted on the side of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"That stomach ache I kept complaining about is something the doctor thinks they can address," he said. Ian gestured at Beverly. "Can you explain it to her?"

"Actually, I'd like to check you -- see how your recovery is coming along," Beverly said to Deanna with a hand on her shoulder. "I can tell you more about what's going on with him and what can be done for him when we get to Earth, while we do that."

"We're less than four hours from Earth orbit," Picard said.

"I'll be back," Deanna said with a fond smile at her father as she went.

When she was gone Ian nodded to Picard. "Jean-Luc."

"I'm going to talk to admirals, when we get there. I'm to make a full report on the meeting with the Cardassians, and also on Betazed. I'm going to recommend that they leave Betazed alone."

Ian nodded sagely. "You know they won't settle for that."

"Perhaps. But it's worth trying. Does Beverly think you'll make a full recovery?"

"She did what doctors do, thinks my prognosis is good but deferred to some specialist she intends to send me to. She wanted me to stay only because she wanted continuous scans -- I guess the Betazoids were less advanced than the Federation when it comes to medical issues. Apparently they couldn't understand what was going on with me. Kept treating symptoms." Ian sighed, flipped the blanket back, and swung his legs off the bed. "Think I should go with you."

"Am I correct in thinking that the Betazoids have an issue with minutiae? I wonder if the larger consciousness really allows the individuals to be truly self controlling."

Ian sat there eyeing him wearily. "I've thought that many times over the years. I went back and forth about it, often. I rarely argued with Lwaxana but that was mostly because I was living there, trying to acculturate and find my place among them, and their way of dealing with conflicts is actually quite calm, passive by our standards. But I really couldn't help feeling sometimes that I was with more than just my wife. I'm not sure she even knew where she herself began and ended. Deanna said before that you were hoping they would change their minds and join -- what's changed yours?"

"I believed that they should join to help us understand them, and other alien species, more than we do. But then they told her she couldn't return to Betazed. It demonstrates a small-mindedness that one would assume a collective consciousness might not fall prey to, and yet, they don't want an accomplished member of their government to return -- she assumes because of me, and because she's lost her abilities. Even though that is likely temporary."

Ian's expression turned dark and stormy. They were distracted by the door opening, and Deanna was back -- she came to Picard. "What are you angry about?"

"Are you coming with me to speak to the admirals? Your father would like to go."

"I thought we settled that. Are you expecting me to change my mind? You need me to go, do you not?" She came in close and leaned, putting a hand on his chest, and it was natural to put an arm around her waist.

"I think they should hear from you first hand, yes, but if you aren't feeling up to a confrontation I can inform them you're still recovering from the confrontation with the Cardassians."

"Do you anticipate the meeting will become confrontational, then?" She looked concerned, but sounded placid.

"Not overtly perhaps. We shall see."

"We should get an early lunch, yes? I'm getting hungry, and I want to put on some real clothes." Ian stood up. "We should talk about what we're going to say to these admirals."

"You can come to my quarters," Picard said. "We'll be there waiting for you."

"What did Dr. Crusher say about you, Maverick? Are you better?" Ian asked.

"She thinks there is some improvement. It's hard for me to tell... I think I'm starting to sense emotions again, but it's so gradual." Deanna gestured at her head. "I'm not having a headache all the time any more."

The three of them left sickbay, and then they left Ian to ride to his deck and his suite alone. Picard followed her into his quarters and stopped in front of her when she turned around to face him. She looked him in the eye, with an expression that reminded him of when she'd come aboard -- she was assessing and thinking. He smiled.

"Why are you happy?" she asked.

"You appear to be feeling much better. More yourself." Picard touched her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw.

Her smile was cause to feel better still. "Better, yes. I hope I don't wake you tonight as I did last night."

"Or if you do, it's for a better reason." He gestured toward the replicator. "What do you want to drink?"

She asked the computer for several Betazoid options, and he got himself a sandwich and some water. Ian arrived wearing a blue shirt and darker blue pants. He grinned at the plates on the tables. "You've imported some of my favorites!"

"Yes, there are now Betazoid recipes to request from the computer," Deanna said.

He fetched a glass of tea for himself, and joined them at the table. "I'm glad to see the two of you are so compatible."

That was as confusing to Deanna as it was to Picard. "What do you mean?" she asked as she started to eat.

"It was harder than I expected for the first few months, with your mother. Mostly cultural differences but there were other issues."

"You've told me about that. Were you expecting me to have the same problem?" Deanna looked at Picard out of the corner of her eye.

"No, not at all -- I'm simply happy you aren't having the same issues. It will be enough of an adjustment going to Earth." Ian thought for a moment, picked up his tea, sipped, and went on. "It's going to be hard for me."

"Sudden changes and the resulting trauma aren't unfamiliar challenges, for me," Picard said. "It takes time to make adjustments -- I know that you will both find your footing."

"These admirals, you know them?" Ian asked.

"Admiral Nechayev is the fleet admiral. She's been the one at the forefront of the war -- now that it's over, her concern will no doubt be keeping the peace. She probably does not yet believe the conflict is over -- I also have difficulty believing that the Cardassians will simply do as they are told, even with the knowledge that the Betazoids could inflict great pain upon them at any time."

"I don't believe that species was known to us, when I was an officer," Ian said. "They sound wholly untrustworthy. That Betazed was willing to go to extremes to address the things they've done confirms it, certainly."

Deanna poked at her food with her fork, apparently having lost her appetite, and Picard wasn't surprised. "You're thinking about when you confronted them, aren't you?" he asked. When she didn't answer right away, Ian glanced at him, concerned.

"I've been having dreams about it. I've never experienced that before," she confessed after a minute.

"Nightmares. Bad dreams," Picard said. "Likely also about being separated from Betazed, which seems distressing to you as well. It's a common reaction to traumatic experiences."

"I've never had a dream at all. I had to ask Dr. Crusher what it meant."

Ian smiled ruefully as he reached for his glass again. "You have never been completely disconnected from the rest of Betazed before. I startled your mother by having dreams. She said Betazoids don't experience them."

"Humans do. We have them every night in fact, most of the time we don't remember them. But it's one of my favorite reactions to trauma," Picard said. "By which I mean, it's one of my common reactions to it."

"We should be preparing to meet with the admirals," Deanna said.

"They will be polite and respectful of you. No need to worry."

"Do you trust them?"

Her question made him think -- he almost laughed, at how things had changed. Prior to the trip to Betazed he would have answered in the affirmative without thinking about it. "In a way. In others, no. There are sometimes conflicts between roles -- the personal and the professional can collide. I trust Admiral Fitzgerald to do his job, and if that means he's not being a good friend at the time so be it."

"Are they really interested in anything I have to say now that I'm no longer a representive of Betazed?"

She was quite good at asking questions that made him do double takes. Picard thought about how that might influence things. "They'll be interested in your insights into the Betazoid mindset. It may be that Betazed joining the Federation has become more important to them -- now that you have disproved their theory that Betazoids lack the ability to adequately defend themselves."

Ian cocked his head and seemed to be mulling over this himself. "Do you think that this could be risking your good standing in Starfleet?"

"What do you mean?" Deanna exclaimed.

"It's been a very long time since this old man had to think about such matters," Ian said. He too seemed to have mostly lost interest in the food. He pushed the plate aside and crossed his arms on the edge of the table in front of him. "But it occurs to me, because of course the first thing you do when your daughter runs off with some fellow you've never met before is ask the computer about him, that his excellent reputation can suffer if he stands up against what admirals want."

"Starfleet isn't about just following orders," Picard said.

"Oh, certainly, knowing when to stand up against your superiors -- I went through that class and we all debated the scenarios. But the average starship captain your age is either dead or an admiral by now. And this is not some away mission."

"You and my first officer," Picard exclaimed with a wry smile. "I'm surrounded by comedians. I'll be fine."

Deanna slipped into princess mode -- head high and her right eyebrow climbing. "You don't take this seriously? Is he right? Are you taking some risk if you give a dissenting or negative opinion?"

"You have nothing to worry about. I know our audience, and mine would hardly be the first dissenting opinion they've ever heard. And they always have the option of ignoring my opinion."

That didn't make her happy. She dropped her gaze and went quiet.

"Were there ever dissenting opinions on Betazed, when you were attempting to make some decision with the rest of the governors?"

"That doesn't happen," she murmured. "We debate until a consensus is reached, and if it's a very important one we do so with all of Betazed."

"You're saying there is always a consensus," Picard echoed, not quite believing it, but not surprised, either.

"Honey, I did tell you before," Ian said. "It's not going to be like it is on Betazed. In fact, there are things in human history that will make you believe that we humans are absolutely determined to disagree and injure each other in the name of being right."

"I know," she said, rising from her chair. "I should change into something else, for the meeting. Excuse me."

"So should I -- not a uniform, but any suggestions?" Ian asked.

"You could put on a jacket over what you're wearing -- I'm sure you would be fine either way. I'll page you when it's time to beam down."

After Ian left, Picard went to the bedroom to find her holding up two dresses. "The blue one."

She returned the red to the end of the closet where she had a handful of dresses. "Should I put my hair up?"

"Wear it as you wish. What's wrong?"

Folding the dress over an arm, she hugged herself and tried to smile at him. "I don't want you to suffer any consequences for what's happened."

"For what -- I'm sorry, what do you mean?"

"I don't know," she exclaimed, with an exagerrated shrug. "I don't know what Starfleet expects of you. I don't know if my insistence that we should push the Cardassians to meet in the Imarin system -- "

"Deanna," he exclaimed. He took a few seconds to collect his thoughts and turn down the volume. "Deanna, please don't be afraid of that. I'd have heard from Fitz already if they took exception to any of that and blamed me."

She gazed at him with wide eyes for a few heartbeats. "But if that is not what you are dreading, what is it?"

"So you really are getting your abilities back," he surmised. "Wonderful. I'll take you out for dinner to celebrate. There are some good restaurants in many time zones and we have transporters."

"Jean-Luc," she exclaimed. "Please."

"I don't like being ignored, when I think the outcome will be bad for the Federation."

"You think that you will be ignored," she repeated, clearly not understanding.

"Most of the time I can go out into the galaxy and pretend that the only thing that matters is the mission in front of me. The future is waiting for us to reach it. Worlds are waiting for us to befriend them. I can even pretend that everyone else in Starfleet is pretending the same thing along with me. But I know that there are those who will see things differently. Nechayev scolded me, for not taking advantage of a situation -- I respected the rights of the person and failed to use him to infiltrate a species called the Borg. As worried as they are about the Cardassians, the Borg are a bigger worry. They are more powerful than the Cardassian Union."

"I've never heard of them. Is the Federation also at war with them?"

"No, they come from another quadrant -- we think. It's a long story, how we came to their attention, but they sent a force across the galaxy to Earth. We were the first vessel to intercept them." He hesitated. "There was a battle -- many lives, many vessels, were lost. It hasn't happened again, but we know it will. They assimilate other species."

She was frowning, and it was clear she was picking up some of the pain he felt at the memory. "What do you mean, they assimilate other species?"

"They use nanites to alter the individuals of other species. They take over the body and the mind, make it part of their collective mind. Eliminate individual thought. You do what the collective tells you."

Deanna tossed the dress at the bed and approached him, peering into his eyes. "They did this to you?"

He waved off her concern. "It was a while ago. They got me back -- Dr. Crusher restored me to myself, took off the machine parts and took out the implants -- "

"Implants?"

"It isn't important," he said, forcing a smile. She was getting too upset. "I'm fine. I don't even have nightmares any more."

She stared, and he waited, resisting the urge to keep reassuring her -- there came a point when too much reasoning and rationalizing made it less convincing. Then it struck him that none of that would work with her, in any amount.

"Look, it isn't pertinent to what we need to do today. It isn't affecting me. It will be part of why Command might want Betazed on our side -- but do you think telepathy will give us any advantage against cybernetic implants?"

Deanna shook her head, completely confused. "I don't understand. What is a cybernetic implant?"

"Oh," he said, running a hand over his head. "Computer components, implanted in the brain, or somewhere else in the body. In the case of the Borg, some of them interlink with the Collective -- all the individual drones together form a large computer network."

"They make a computer, out of people," she said, shaking her head, a curl in her lip. "Horrible."

"Yes. But we're working on solutions even now. I'm just explaining to you -- "

"Why they are so focused on finding stronger defenses, yes, and it makes sense, considering that no one would ever want to be used as just another computer part. Thank you, for explaining it to me." She reached for him, closed the distance between them, hugged him tightly, and he returned the embrace. "I know my father has left out a lot of things in his discussions of Starfleet with me. He still treats me like a child at times."

"Well -- that would be any parent, I'm afraid."

"I'll change and put my hair up. How much time do we have left?"

Picard had to ask the computer. To his surprise, they had two and a half hours to go. "We should head to the bridge in an hour. We'll drop to impulse outside the system, as there's so much traffic within it."

"So we have an hour to spend doing something else?" Before he could respond, she kissed him, making it plain what else she wanted to do.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A repost of the chapter, now with more chapter. My apologies for the premature posting.

Command was a gleaming skyscraper in the midst of many tall, shining buildings in the sun -- the transporter pad was in the center of the buildings that constituted Command, Starfleet Medical, Tactical Operations and Security. Deanna stepped off the pad and walked with Picard, and both of them had to stop and wait for Ian to stop staring and come with them.   
  
"It's changed," Ian said as he caught up with them. He'd changed into a gray suit. His white hair was slicked back from his face and he was smiling less -- putting on the more professional demeanor he likely had set aside with his uniform years ago. Deanna kept looking at him dubiously.   
  
"Yes, they rebuilt since you were here last, I believe," Picard said with a smile. "That way."   
  
They checked in at the door with retinal scans and rode a lift to the tenth floor. Deanna had worn the blue dress, a high-necked silk with a knee-length skirt, and matching shoes. She stood close to him, her hands behind her back, and watched the flickering indictator as they rose swiftly.   
  
"I'm nervous, so I hope you don't mind if I stick to answering questions." Ian was fidgeting a little.   
  
"I anticipate it will be tense, but I hope to come away from here with a better idea of what my career will be like, in the near future," Picard said.   
  
"You think it will change?" Deanna asked.   
  
"It may, but not in ways I will find disturbing. Trust me."   
  
She turned to her father with a familiar calculating expression. "Is this what you were like, as an officer? This distant and cool person you become?"   
  
Ian exchanged a look with Picard. "Almost. It's been a long time and I am out of practice."   
  
"Do you all do this? Change this way?"   
  
The lift stopped and the door opened. Picard stepped out, glanced right and left, and turned left down the empty corridor along the tinted windows. He reached the door to Fitzgerald's office, and led the way inside.    
  
"Hello, Captain," the lieutenant at the desk exclaimed, rising to her feet to salute.    
  
"Is the admiral in?" Picard noticed the door to the inner office was in fact standing open. "Or should I start searching the local bars?"   
  
In seconds, Rear Admiral Fitzgerald was there, grinning and striding out with hand extended. "Jean-Luc! You're early!" They shook hands vigorously, and then Fitz noticed Ian and Deanna. "Governor, a pleasure to meet you in person. And you must be her father -- I haven't seen you since the Academy, welcome home."   
  
"Thank you, Fitz. It's good to be back." Ian was treated to the same handshake, and then they were waved through into the office. Then the lieutenant was offering beverages and when those were politely rejected, she closed the door as she retreated.

“I anticipate we’ll be moving to the fleet admiral’s office for the official meeting, but we were in the neighborhood,” Picard said. 

Fitz sat down behind his desk. “I’m glad you came a little early -- you know we’ll have to go to drinks and I have a thousand questions. What was it like, on Betazed?”

Picard turned to look at Deanna, at Ian, and neither of them spoke. He thought he understood why -- where to begin? “It was not like Earth,” Picard said. “There is a collective consciousness that includes the animals. Some of them, anyway.”

Fitz’s bushy gray brows came together. “You are concerned about this.”

“I know what you’re going to suggest, but my concerns are that Starfleet hears something like this, and dismisses it without truly considering the ramifications on the likelihood of establishing a treaty. Betazed decides whether or not to continue to have a relationship with other worlds on a consensus, of everyone on the planet.”

That sent the bushy brows climbing. “Really?”

Picard turned to Deanna. She was gazing steadily at him, and when their eyes met, she smiled. “Would you say that you were a representative, or would ‘mouthpiece’ be a more descriptive term?”

“I used the term that any species uses for a person they send to speak on the behalf of their species, or their organization,” she replied. “I did my best to represent Betazed. I often did so with their full awareness at the moment I was speaking.”

Picard watched the way the admiral’s eyes started to light up, and held up a hand. “Register for a moment if you will that she is speaking in past tense. When she left Betazed informed her that she could not return. She gave up her position in their government to bring her father back to Earth.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Fitz exclaimed, giving her a sorrowful look. Picard was sure that he was -- no doubt he’d been sure that Deanna was a convenient conduit to negotiate that treaty. “I wonder then why you are here today? We’re more than happy to have you come speak to us, but this was to be a debriefing with the captain.” Fitz shot a look at Picard.

“I anticipate that part of the debriefing will be a question of recommendations,” Picard said. “I brought Mr. and Miss Troi to provide you with corroborating information supporting my position that Betazed should be left alone.”

Fitz was still taking that in when the beep from the desk interrupted. “Sir, Admiral Nechayev is requesting you to her office.”

“Thank you, Marley. Shall we?” Fitz gestured at the door.

Nechayev’s office was one floor up and west-facing, giving her a grand view of the bay. Fitzgerald introduced the fleet admiral to Deanna and Ian, then asked them to wait in the front office under the watchful eye of the fleet admiral’s adjutant. Picard went in with Fitz to sit at the large rectangular table in front of the windows. Nechayev greeted him with the usual stiff-lipped smile. She had her adjutant bring in a pot of coffee and leave a tray on the table to one side, and sat between them at the head of the table. 

“Now, Captain,” she began, hands folded on the table in front of her. “I want to congratulate you on successfully ending the war.”

Picard sighed heavily. “Thank you, Admiral. Though there was very little I contributed to that effort.”

“You postponed telling us how we’ve been approaching Betazed wrong for the past few decades -- perhaps we could start there.” Nechayev reached for the pot and poured herself a cup, and added sweetener to it. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you, Admiral. Every delegation has failed to notice that Betazed is a collective consciousness, and that influences the outcome. It means when they are addressing the individual delegates they are being scanned and assessed by millions of people. Betazed has governors that act on the behalf of the people. They do so with the oversight of everyone -- imagine if all the officers of Starfleet were able to know exactly what you were doing each moment of the day, as well as having the ability to influence what you do next. Individuals, but not with individual thought when it comes to planet wide concerns.”

That led to both admirals staring at him, as the full ramifications of that played themselves out in their thoughts. 

“And you think that you have privacy, that you’re going to get some intelligence out of me that Deanna and her father shouldn’t hear. I assure you she is perfectly aware of everything I am telling you.” They might assume telepathy, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to see if they would question it.

“Captain, do you believe that Betazed having membership in the Federation is wrong?” Fitz asked. “Or impossible? We have telepathic species who are already members, after all. The Binars also -- they have a collective consciousness. What precisely is it that’s making you reticent to suggest further attempts to bring them into an alliance with us?”

“The fact that after repeated attempts they reject membership. The fact that they have expelled Deanna Troi, informed her that if she leaves she cannot return. The fact that they aren’t deliberately withholding information -- they are unable to see that they are doing it. They don’t see that not revealing the power at their disposal is something that we would see as a breach of trust. Their world was formerly in an entirely different location -- they moved the planet from the other side of the Klingon Empire to its present location because the violence in the area was disturbing their peace. When they issued their ultimatum to the Cardassians, they inflicted pain on all of the Cardassians at the same time, not just the four individuals in front of me. Admiral, none of the previous delegations were aware of these things.” He paused, watching Nechayev’s expression. She was as stern as always, and thinking hard. In the past he’d managed to fall out of her good graces, but it didn’t seem to be influencing her in this instance. However, that simply meant he would annoy her to that point with his conclusions, without the interference of his previous annoyances.

“How do you know they moved their world?” Fitz asked.

“Because they will answer questions honestly, when they are dealt with honestly. Initially, I was tested -- we conversed openly about what I assumed to be innocuous topics. Miss Troi decided to go with me, to negotiate peace, after I passed the test. She was more forthcoming after I was -- she informed me that previous delegations were dishonest.”

Nechayev’s head tilted slightly at that. “Captain Setok -- “

“He refused to have telepathic contact with them. They could tell he was hiding his thoughts from them. You are expecting them to acknowledge there are separations, between what we do professionally and what we think personally. There are no such separations so far as they are concerned. They do know that we are different in that way, but they reject formalities. They reject contracts. They value congruence, in word and deed, and also in thought. Perceived hypocrisy is the cause of repeated failures to bring them into the Federation. Would you like to know how I was successful, in gaining her cooperation?”

That led to a look passing between the admirals, as if they were finally getting what they wanted -- Nechayev gave him a satisfied nod.

“When a Betazoid comes of age and manifests telepathy, they connect with their soulmate -- they are able to find that person and then they set up housekeeping without delay. Deanna Troi never did that. She is unique among Betazoids, as her mother was, and so when she beamed aboard and saw her soulmate standing there she proceeded with the knowledge that her father, who had been through this before, would have wanted it to be different. And so she respected our custom, to develop a relationship first.”

Both admirals were now leaning forward, coffee forgotten. “You are saying that she has a relationship with a member of your crew, and this is how she decided to help the Federation? Captain,” Nechayev exclaimed, now frowning and scolding. 

“You’re still thinking about this without considering the bigger picture -- you don’t understand that Ian likely explained to the entire population, because when you talk to one of them you are talking to all of them, that he would be brought up on charges if he came back to the Federation. And people who would do that to one of their own are not people they want to associate with -- Betazoids don’t have the same expectations we do.”

“But you just said Deanna would not be able to return, if she left.” Fitz said. 

“She’s half human, and now she’s found a mate with another human. How many foreign agents on their homeworld do you think a collective consciousness will tolerate? Consider for a moment the effort that had to be expended to move their planet simply because there were wars going on between other species in the neighboring space -- they themselves are avoided by the Klingons, who believe them to be witches. A number of individuals died, in the effort to physically move a planet, because they were not tolerating the violent emotions of other species that were in other systems near theirs. The collective consciousness will protect itself. Ian was tolerated, but you’ll notice that he is here, not there. He was tolerated because of his wife, and when she died, he was tolerated because his daughter was part of their consciousness. And then she didn’t die, as they expected her to when she became their weapon -- she experienced brain damage, disconnecting her from the larger consciousness. And so she is no longer part of Betazed. Easy to discard.”

Fitz turned to Nechayev and crossed his arms. He waited, as if passing the baton.

“How did you leave this, with Betazed?” Nechayev asked. “What was your final contact like?”

Picard sighed, knowing that meant they were not hearing what he was saying. It was, he reflected, not unlike what the Betazoids had experienced when dealing with the envoys sent to convince them to join the Federation. “I sent them a message. I had intended to speak to someone in person, and apologize for previous envoys, for their lack of curiosity and insensitivity to what the Betazoids surely attempted to convey to them -- after what they did to Deanna, I did as they do so often to us. Sent a  message. I suspect they understand the nuance in that well enough.”

Nechayev didn’t like that, he could tell. She had a way of glaring when she completely disapproved. “Do you have any advice for the next attempt?”

“Send friendlier telepaths than the Vulcans. Send people who will be scrupulously honest and forthright. People with no covert agenda and who have high standards, good ethics. Who won’t treat them like some secret weapon or asset -- who will see them as people.”

That pulled her lips into a straight line, and brought her eyebrows down over her icy blue eyes. She reached for the panel in front of her on the surface of the table. “Thank you, Captain. You may go. I will expect a full report describing the entirety of your experiences, of course.”

“Do you wish to speak with the Trois?” Fitz asked.

Nechayev stared at him as if he might have surprised her. “Yes, I would.” She tapped a control. “Lieutenant, send in our other guests.”

When Deanna came in, Picard had to fight a smile. She could say so much with just the way she held her head. She came around behind Nechayev to sit next to him, hands in her lap, gazing coolly at the fleet admiral. Ian sat across from her slowly, next to Fitz -- he met Picard’s eyes briefly and then turned to the admirals, to give a benign smile.

“I was hoping you might be willing to answer a few questions, Miss Troi,” Nechayev said pleasantly. 

Deanna glanced at Picard with a surprised expression. He shrugged ever so slightly, and she said to the admiral, “Of course.”

“I want to thank you for what you have done, ending the war,” Nechayev said. “The Cardassians have never responded honestly to our attempts to make peace.”

Deanna responded with a nod. 

“I’m sorry, have I done something to offend?” 

It startled Picard -- he’d never heard the fleet admiral say anything like it, not to the Cardassians or anyone else. He kept his eyes on Fitz, who seemed to be hiding similar surprise. 

“Ask your questions,” Deanna said stiffly.

It seemed to be offputting to Nechayev. But she maintained the smile and continued -- making it obvious she either hadn’t really heard much of what he’d said about Betazoids, or she didn’t care. “You of course know that the Federation would welcome Betazed as a member -- I was wondering if you might provide me with some insight as to why they have refused each time?”

Deanna sighed and turned to Picard. “I thought you were reporting what’s been said to you -- are you leaving this out or do they not trust you at all?”

“I suspect it is more a matter of corroborating what I’ve said,” he replied calmly. 

“What does that mean, corroborating?” She glanced at each of them in turn. 

“That means they want your input,” Ian said. “Because they want more of the same information, to verify what they believe to be true.”

Deanna shook her head, sighed again, and turned to Nechayev. “The Federation envoys have never been completely truthful with Betazed.”

Nechayev looked disapproving. “Can you be more specific? What were they dishonest about?”

“All right… Captain Setok did not like my mother. He did not like any Betazoid that he met. He felt frustration and when asked what he felt that about, he denied any feelings at all, a blatant lie. Captain Nordhoff, the one who visited ten years after Setok, felt that it was all a waste of his time, told my mother that he wanted to take my father with him for a court-martial while feeling attraction for her. Betazed found that particularly offensive. Tearing apart a mated couple is detestable. Captain Fordham, who came ten years ago, told me that the Federation still hoped that Betazed would become a member. He also flirted with me and failed to take me at my word that I had no interest whatsoever in him. He told one of the other governors that there were plenty of telepaths in the Federation, that they understand telepaths, that we would find membership afforded us opportunities that we would benefit from, and he neither believed what he was saying nor cared whether or not we knew that. The captain who came before him, Sing -- he offended the three governors who beamed aboard within the first fifteen minutes by being a condescending ass to them. Would you like me to continue?”

“I think we have the gist of it,” Fitz said. “So what did Captain Picard do differently?”

Deanna was just as stiff and upright as when she’d come in. But for Fitz, she had a hint of a smile. “He didn’t assume he knew anything about Betazed. He asked and answered questions even if he wasn’t comfortable, and accepted my answers. He treated me like an intelligent person instead of leering at me or insulting me with lies after he became aware that I am empathic.”

“And he seems to understand that Betazed doesn’t need anyone else, and that if you push them any more that they will move again,” Ian put in. “There was talk of it the last couple of times you sent someone. It starts to appear that you’re all deliberately ignoring what you’re told, when you go.”

“The logs are obviously not reflecting what Miss Troi is saying,” Fitz exclaimed, not noticing that he was jumping in even as the fleet admiral opened her mouth to speak. “Do the Betazoids understand that we’re not all getting the entire picture?”

“They do,” Deanna said. “It’s been a most frustrating thing to explain repeatedly that we aren’t finding reasons to trust the Federation.”

“What can we do to earn that trust?” Nechayev managed.

“Stop being like the Cardassians.”

Picard covered his mouth with his hand and sank down in his seat, trying not to look at anyone.

“I -- “ 

It was the first time Picard had ever witnessed the fleet admiral being speechless. He stifled the urge to straighten his uniform, sat up, and dared to look -- Nechayev was trying to find the words, probably hesitating due to extreme dismay or perhaps outrage, as she stared at the calm, cold Deanna Troi.

“I think that we should offer Miss Troi full citizenship,” he said into the silence. “I think that you should consider that she would make an excellent diplomat. And I think you should apologize to her for not listening, when her husband attempted to tell you exactly what you needed to know about her, and about Betazed.”

Nechayev’s shock pulled her wide eyes to his face, and she flushed a bright pink. Within moments she was as stiff and cold as Deanna. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you, Mr. Troi, Miss Troi, for being willing to meet with us today. If you will excuse me, I have a meeting that I must attend, with the joint chiefs of staff.” She stood, and everyone got up with her.

When they were all in the corridor outside the fleet admiral’s offices, leaving Nechayev inside behind a couple of closed doors, Fitz turned to Picard with a lopsided grin. “That may have cost you more than you wanted to pay."

"Unlikely," Picard replied. 

"Damn satisfying to see the look on her face," Fitz exclaimed, holding out his arms, turning to Deanna. "Magnificent."

"I don't understand this," Deanna blurted, turning toward the lift, shaking her head.

Picard exchanged looks with her father, who had a wry smile, and Fitz, who was grinning. "Is the Goose and Gander still in business?"

"Yes," Fitz exclaimed. "And they have a fifty year old Glenfiddich -- does she drink?"

"They don't have scotch on Betazed," Ian said. "They don't care much for intoxicants. But I think she might be ready for one, and it might help the explanation go down easier for her."

Picard set out after her and caught the lift as the doors were closing behind her, holding them open so the others could catch up. "We're going to a pub," he told her. "Are you hungry?"

"You aren't angry? That insulting woman -- "

"Hush," Ian said, as he came in with Fitz. "Not while we're at Starfleet Command. We'll explain it to you, Maverick."

"Maverick?" Fitz echoed.

"It's an old nickname from the days I told her cowboy stories at bedtime. That was the name of one of her favorite characters. And as has oft been the case, it's fairly descriptive," Ian said with some pride.

"Ah," Fitz replied. He turned to smirk at Picard. "Then this begins to make more sense."

"What are you talking about?" Deanna exclaimed, becoming angry again.

"Maverick is a word describing an unorthodox, or independent-minded, person," Picard explained. "And that is why I have never questioned why your father decided to give you the nickname."


	16. Chapter 16

The street outside the Goose and Gander was intended only for pedestrian traffic and empty at this time of day. Picard had been to some of Fitz's favorite pubs in the past, on those rare occasions he'd been on Earth, and knew the Goose was his usual -- close to Command and small, with booths instead of the open floor plan of some other establishments. It was unlikely to be busy as it was after the normal lunch hour.

Deanna was silent, as she had been for most of the time they'd been on Earth, and it was starting to appear that something beyond the fleet admiral's attitude was bothering her. Inside, as they were shown to a booth by an annoyingly-young man, she excused herself and gave him instructions to get her something he thought she would like.

Fitz watched her head to the back of the pub where the restrooms were, and sat next to Ian on the bench facing Picard. "You already know what she likes," he commented.

"This is Earth. She has no real idea what she likes, here. I know a little of her preferences."

"Would you like something to drink?" the waiter asked.

"Glenfiddich, all around, the good stuff. I'll have my usual, Ted." Fitz turned to Ian.

"The ham sandwich combination," he said, passing the menu padd across to Picard. A glance told him the menu hadn't changed much so he ordered the same for himself and a salad for Deanna. The waiter went through a door, probably into the kitchen. 

"Something's going on with her," Ian said quietly.

"I have a hunch that the brain damage is healing quickly. Her empathy is coming back," Picard said. "The ship was difficult, she had to take sedatives to sleep at night. Millions of chaotic humans being emotional might be too difficult to manage for her."

"I think you are correct. She never enjoyed visiting other worlds," Ian said. "She wouldn't tell me much about her experiences. Probably didn't want to worry me."

"I'm not certain I understand," Fitz said. 

Ian sighed heavily. Picard asked, "What do you not understand?"

"You said that Betazoids are telepathic and also a collective mind, but you're saying she is empathic. And weren't you the one who swore to me years ago that you were never marrying?"

"Yes, that was me -- I suppose the obvious conclusion is that I've changed. As for the rest, she is indeed more empathic than telepathic."

"Because she's half human," Ian added. "There were a lot of doctors involved in her early years. We were trying to fend them off, as she grew older. She was a curiosity to them."

"And that too is a sign of change, you were easier to provoke before. So you were saying in the meeting that you don't think we should continue to approach Betazed about Federation membership, and you indicated that we don't understand them well enough to succeed." Fitz paused as the waiter returned and placed four shots on the table, along with glasses of water and sets of utensils. He waited as Ted left again. "What did she mean by that last statement that blew the top off the fleet admiral's head? Does she understand what that really means to us?"

"I'm sure she does. But -- " Picard heard the squeal of the hinges of the restroom door, and she returned a moment later, sliding in to sit next to him. She didn't look happy. "Are you all right?"

"Trying to adjust. It's difficult to screen out all the input I'm getting." 

"Did you know what you were implying, when you told the fleet admiral we are like the Cardassians?"

Ian went wide-eyed at that. Picard thought that might imply such a direct question would upset her, but he had been nothing but direct all along, so waited for her response. 

"Humans are like the Cardassians. Some of you are devious. Some of you aren't truthful. Some of you are well meaning, but feel bound by law, or some external obligation, to treat others in a certain manner." She drank some of the water, then picked up the whiskey and sniffed it. "This is alcoholic?"

"Yes. It's much stronger than the wine. If you don't like it we can get you something else. You didn't answer my question," Picard said.

"Yes, I knew it would have an impact. She wasn't listening to either of us. She had her mind set already."

"So you insulted her," Fitz exclaimed.

Deanna glanced up as she sipped -- her reaction to what Fitz said was interrupted by the wince at the taste of her drink. "I can't," she said, putting the shot down and grabbing the water glass. 

"We'll get you some red wine," Picard said. "I think you were trying to provoke her into asking questions."

"Of course."

"The problem is that most of us aren't going to ask questions, after you tell us that we are like the most bloodthirsty and cruel species currently at odds with us," Fitz said, propping his chin on the heel of his hand, elbow on the table. "You're not giving context for the insult."

"But judging from what I have read of human history, you have been just as cruel," Deanna said.

Fitz gaped at Picard. "This is true," Picard said. "But that is history. Humanity is currently beyond -- "

"Some of you are."

Ian was grinning and hiding it poorly behind his shot glass. Fitz was at a loss. 

"Some of the colonies have fared poorly. And it's sometimes the case that in dire circumstances people become desperate, and end up fighting for survival. But I'm speaking of the majority, not the few exceptions," Picard said.

Deanna watched the waiter return with a tray and place plates in front of each of them. The Cobb salad he'd gotten for her met her approval, apparently, and Picard asked him for a Syrah for her. She ate a few bites, as they all did, but then picked up where they had left off after the waiter brought her a glass of wine.

"Your security officer," she said, as if that was all she needed to say.

"One of the exceptions. Turkana IV severed ties with the Federation after the government collapsed."

"So the only violent humans are the ones who aren't in the Federation?"

Picard downed his whiskey and sat looking at Fitz, who was laughing quietly. "No."

"Starfleet doesn't count," Fitz said. "It's a defensive force. Without the ability to defend ourselves -- "

"You would be subjugated, or exterminated, or part of someone's food chain?" Deanna nodded as she worked on loading her fork with salad. "I understand. But this is why Betazed will not accept Federation membership. You have an idea of who you are collectively that is not aligned with reality."

"That isn't me -- I am not a violent person," Picard said. "Not by nature."

"True," Deanna said. 

"Neither were any of the previous starship captains or diplomats sent to Betazed," Fitz countered, taking a bite of his steak. 

"They all represented the Federation as being a peaceful, unified collection of worlds living under the same core principles. That does not make sense, given what Betazed witnessed -- you are still experiencing difficulties with the Klingon Empire, you have had skirmishes with other worlds. The Ferengi and Tzenkethi among them."

"Does Betazed monitor the interactions of the rest of the quadrant?" Picard asked. Because of course they could, if they were able to move a world -- how would they have understood where to take it?

Deanna sipped her wine, glancing at him over the rim of the glass. 

"Of course they do," Ian said.

Fitz turned to Ian. "No one has asked you, have they? How do you feel about Betazed being a Federation world?"

"My wife asked me that before. She wanted to know what to say to the Federation representatives, when she was meeting them. I was a lot younger then -- if I could do it over again I would have told her to refuse to meet them, tell them to leave." Ian looked down at the food on his plate, then at his daughter. "Sorry."

"Betazed would have overridden that," Deanna said. "They listen until there is consensus there is no reason to listen any more when another species talks."

"Then there is still a chance," Fitz exclaimed. "They might change their mind and join."

Deanna looked down. "I don't know. You would have to contact them and ask." That was obviously still a sore subject.

"You are planning to show her the city?" Ian asked, waving his fork at the door. Obviously wanting to change the subject. "She would love the art museum."

"We should go after lunch -- leave these two to reminisce properly," Picard said. 

"I'm sure you don't want your daughter to hear about what you were like at the Academy," Fitz said, going along with it.

"I'm sure there's nothing you could tell her that would shock her," Ian said.

"Not even the story about the time you rigged all the alarms to go off when the admiral came to inspect the dorms?"

They endured a little of the back and forth between the old friends, but it wasn't long before Deanna pushed her plate aside and left a little wine in the bottom of her glass. She looked to Picard, and he nodded. "Contact the ship when you're ready to come back," Picard said to Ian.

"You kids have fun," Ian said with a wave. "Ted, another one!"

Deanna wrinkled her nose at the thought of the whiskey. "Please don't come back drunk."

"I'll take care of him," Fitz exclaimed.

They stepped out into the afternoon sun, and Deanna squinted as they turned into it, toward the ocean, strolling down the hill. She walked so close that as they turned a corner she bumped into him lightly, and he put his arm around her waist to keep her there. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her smile.

"You are not telling me everything," he murmured as they wandered down Market Street.

"I'm not? What do you want to know?"

"Why were you so stiff with Nechayev? You had the fleet admiral being conciliatory, not at all her usual demanding self, and you could have gone a long way toward helping her understand."

"You stopped being yourself," she said. "You were angry and hard. You haven't been like that before... I was afraid that she was doing something to you."

He stopped on a corner, and she stopped with him. She didn't seem able to look at him -- so she was embarrassed? "You thought she was doing something to change me? You were afraid?"

"I didn't know," she confessed, finally meeting his eyes. "It felt like you were turning into someone else. Like you were one of the other officers. It eased somewhat when I came into the room, but she was so angry, and I knew you had to have told her what you know about Betazed. She doesn't like you and she doesn't like that we are together."

Her voice was strained and she fought tears. Picard put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm not sure I understand why that's frightening you."

"Are you in trouble? Was it my fault?"

"Your fault? Why would it be your fault? She's well known for not liking anyone, at least no one she'd admit to liking. There are those who blame her for the continued hostilities with the Cardassians, and others who have been calling her out for inciting the war in the first place, when her negotiations with them resulted in the stalemate that landed us with the Demilitarized Zone. I've frustrated her a number of times by refusing to compromise my principles when she would rather I push her agenda but I'm still a captain, and if this is what she decides is the last time I've frustrated her, so be it."

Deanna spent a moment looking perplexed. "She was this frustrated with you before," she said, dubious.

"I think this explains something else that's confused me -- when you're saying that we are dishonest, you aren't distinguishing between situations where we are feeling one way and behaving in another, and straightforward lying? It isn't unusual to feel frustrated and follow regulations anyway -- like the fleet admiral being angry but not punishing me. Missions sometimes end in unexpected ways no one can predict. She isn't angry at me, so much as she is that I'm telling her Betazed isn't likely to become a member world and defend us all against further aggression from the Cardassians."

"I'm not sure I'm understanding this," Deanna whispered.

Picard sighed, put his arm around her waist again, and walked her around the corner and down the street. "I wonder if you have spent enough time with other species to understand that we are sometimes able to do this? Feel one way and act in another? Are Betazoids able to do that?"

"Of course. But she was so angry. It was like the guls, the Cardassians who smiled at me and imagined malignant, vile things. Angry when they feel powerless. It felt like that, but you said she is an admiral, that she does have power over you?"

"That may be a more accurate assessment -- she may feel powerless at times. But we all do, when missions go awry. And if I have not broken any regulation there isn't anything she can do to me. Do you trust me?"

She stared at the ground in front of her toes, letting him guide her along the walk. "I trust you," she said after a few steps.

"So if I tell you that her anger is nothing new to me, and less stressful than feeling at a loss for how to reassure you that I'm not going to be punished for keeping you after you decided I'm supposed to be your husband?"

"I didn't decide," she exclaimed.

"Were you upset, when you didn't decide that I'm supposed to be your husband?"

She looked up at his face. He slowed down with her. "I was," she said hesitantly. "Until I was able to talk to you more. Until I understood that you aren't like the other officers I have met."

"If you hadn't approved of me, would you have told me that I was the one you were waiting for? Or would you have simply turned us away and not accepted the mission, and let me go my way?"

At that she turned away, wincing slightly.

"Your father advised you to turn us away. Didn't he?"

"I couldn't do it," she said. He could hear the pain in her voice. "Betazed wanted me to listen. And then I wanted to help -- you believed that I could help."

"And you did more than help," he murmured. "Would you have simply gone through the motions, and let me go, if you hadn't approved of me? You could have. I would never have known."

"Yes," she said faintly, as if it were difficult to do.

He smiled, and waited for it to register. She looked at him again, the echo of his happiness pulling at her lips.

"Why?"

"Why would I be happier to be your choice, rather than your destiny? Why were you happy when I chose not to turn you away?" he asked.

She threw her arms around him and he returned the embrace; they stood there on the street in the shadow of a closed shop, happily ignoring passers-by. When they let go, started to walk again, she hugged herself tightly.

"You're cold. We should have brought coats," he commented, glancing up -- there were clouds starting to gather. Clearly the weather was changing.

"Can we go back to the ship? I'm starting to feel another headache, and I'm supposed to go back to sickbay later today anyway to follow up with Dr. Crusher."

"Of course. I should check to see if I've been approved for the leave I requested, as well."

O'Brien was gone, replaced by someone he'd not met, so likely the chief was already on leave with his wife. They walked the corridors and rode the lift to quarters, and he watched her kick off the heels. Then she tossed her hair and smiled over her shoulder at him, with a slyness that immediately spurred him forward to hold her again.

"Nechayev to Picard."

Nothing worse than a bucket of ice water distilled into a sentence. She stepped away, and he tapped his badge, watching her take off her dress without his help. "Picard here."

"I would like to meet with you," she said.

"We've just returned to the _Enterprise_ \-- I was about to check with the bridge. I can return -- "

"I will come to you."

"I'll wait for you in my quarters."

Deanna waited for the chirp of the closing channel, and said, "She's not as angry as she was."

"That's hopeful. But we'll see." He sat on the end of the bed. His thoughts turned back to her, what had been said, and he sighed deeply.

"What is it?" she asked, buttoning a pink top. She'd put on pants and a matching blouse rather than another dress. "What are you thinking about that puts you in that mood?"

"I am wondering if you would have suffered, if I had chosen differently. If I had rejected you. Because you've been so forthcoming about so many other things, and not about -- "

"Why worry about this?"

"I'm not worried. But I would like to know. If you had opted to not tell me and complete the mission, and sent me away. I would never understand why I felt that way about you. What would have happened to you?"

She went to get her brush and sit down before the mirror. Removing the clips and combs from her hair one by one, she said, "I would have gone back to Betazed and done the best that I could to live alone. They would know, of course, that I had sent you away. I would be famous for having been the only one in Betazed's history to ignore my match."

The computer sounded the arrival of the admiral. He came to her and touched her shoulder, leaning to kiss her lightly. "But that didn't happen. Come out when you are ready."

She smiled up at him and watched him leave the bedroom. He straightened his uniform again and when the bedroom door closed, said "Come in."

Admiral Nechayev came in, and for once she wasn't glaring. She stood looking around for the briefest of moments, and he gestured toward the sofa and two easy chairs. "Please, have a seat. Would you care for anything to drink?"

She didn't move. So he waited, standing there watching her and waiting for hints.

"I believe I neglected to answer your question, earlier," he said, to fill the silence. "No, I don't believe my relationship with her was the only reason she agreed to work with us."

"Captain," she said with a sigh. Finally, she moved to seat herself, and he sat in the other chair facing her. "I can't imagine you of all people would have violated that particular regulation."

"That is both concerning and reassuring," he said, attempting a rare moment of minimal humor with the terror of Starfleet.

"I can't imagine that you would lie to me in a briefing, or that you would include details that you felt were irrelevant," Nechayev said. "You're trying to make the point to me that Betazed refuses to join until we understand them."

"No. I'm trying to make the point that they view everything through the lens of relationship. Not contracts or treaties, or trade agreements."

The admiral stared at him with amazement. "Then you married her because you were attempting to -- "

"No, as I told you, she's no longer welcome on Betazed. That has little to do with anything at this point. But she has helped me understand -- as I said, the more forthcoming I have been with her, the more she tells me. She would do the same for you."

The door opened behind him, and Deanna came to stand next to his chair -- he was a little startled to see that she had changed into sheer black tights and a long teal tunic, or perhaps it was a short dress. She'd left her hair down and it was impressive, a cape of corkscrew curls. There were stress lines around her eyes.

"Still with the headache?" he asked.

"I'm going to sickbay," she said. 

"I wanted to apologize to you, Miss Troi," Nechayev said. "I was not able to set aside matters that weigh heavily on me, and I should have. I was not angry at you."

Deanna frowned, at her and at Picard, glancing back and forth. "I'm sorry."

Nechayev looked at them as if trying to decide some matter of urgent importance. Apparently, she made that decision quickly. "I agree with you, Captain. I think we need your wife in a position to negotiate on our behalf. I have forwarded that recommendation to the Diplomatic Corps, so you should be hearing from them shortly. Once you are credentialed I would like to brief you on an urgent matter."

"Would I not need to be a citizen of the Federation to take such a position?" Deanna said.

"That matter is also being expedited. You should visit the UFPIS office in the morning, they will want to take a retinal scan and open a file for you."

"I suppose this means the Cardassians are asking for Federation membership," Deanna said. "I have considerable experience in dealing with them."

Nechayev was standing up, and froze as Deanna finished speaking. "I cannot speak to that," she said quietly.

"If a war effort is thwarted, the next tactic would be to seek friendship and claw their way to power from within," Deanna commented. "A longer investment with a slower approach, but ultimately a most useful method."

"I will speak to you again soon, Mrs. Picard. Captain." Nechayev left without a backward glance.

"Mrs. Picard?" Deanna echoed.

"I told them we were married. That would be the traditional way to address you. Women often keep their names but many take the husband's name." He leaped to his feet. "Let's get you to sickbay."

"You're in a good mood," she exclaimed, walking with him from his quarters.

"The fleet admiral has just promised you an important assignment. After she was conciliatory to you in the earlier meeting. Something is afoot and she sees you as the solution. She wasn't angry at me, or you. There's a situation. It's making her terse and impatient."

"You're excited by this? How strange."

They entered the lift together. "The game is afoot, Watson. Computer, sickbay."

Deanna laughed at it. "You are not Sherlock Holmes."

"No, I am Captain Picard, and this is my life. Didn't realize what you signed up for, did you?"

She leaned against the side of the lift. "I had a guess that it would be interesting. But it's already been interesting, being a diplomat for Betazed."

"So we should spend some time on leave telling each other stories?"

"I would like that very much. Also we should go riding."

They left the lift and went the short distance to sickbay, and went in to find Beverly concluding what must have been a staff meeting. The dozen or so staff assembled dispersed quickly and Beverly came over with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm having difficulty -- I have a headache. Emotional overload, from being on a new world."

"Well, let's have a look."

Picard followed them to the biobed, and Beverly shot him a curious look. "Should I leave?"

"That's up to my patient," Beverly said. "Do you want him to stay?"

"If he wants to. I'll just tell him later if he doesn't."

Picard stood on the other side of the bed and watched Beverly run scans. "It's obvious that you're better, the damage to the paracortex is clearly diminished. You're feeling tired and have a headache because you aren't resting as I told you to. I'll give you an analgesic."

"Are you taking any leave?" Deanna asked, as the doctor pressed a hypo against the base of her neck.

"Of course. Maybe you'll see me, if you happen to end up on the beaches of Greece," Beverly said with a smirk.

"What are they like? Is it warm?"

"Yes, the climate there is perfect. I intend to wear as little as possible." Beverly stood back as Deanna sat up. "Have you made any plans yet?"

"We haven't had time to talk about it. The admirals took up much of our day," Deanna said.

"They have a way of doing that, I'm told. Well, you should think about something more restful for the rest of your day."

"Will was talking about a poker game. Do you know anything about that?" Picard asked.

"The last I heard he'd put it on hold. He's determined we'll be getting drinks at the Mad Andorian tonight."

Deanna was watching him with anticipation. He sighed, turned toward the door, and reached for her -- she came to him and stepped into the curve of his arm. "Have fun, Beverly. We'll be resting."

"Right," was the sarcastic retort as the doors closed behind him.

"So I'll leave you in our quarters and check my messages -- if I have the official confirmation I can leave the ship on leave. We should talk about what you'd like to see, once we've gone to immigration services and seen to your father."


	17. Chapter 17

Picard arrived in Ten Forward about an hour before he usually ate dinner, padd in hand, and came to sit at the bar. Guinan came back from serving someone at a table and stopped in front of him on the other side of the bar. "Well, hello," she exclaimed.

"I know, it's been a long time."

"No, it's been a couple of weeks. You were knocked off schedule by the sudden appearance of your girlfriend," she said without sarcasm. He normally came in once a week, to have tea and chat. Unless of course there was some crisis or a mission in progress.

Picard sighed. "Tea?"

"Of course." She turned around and got it out of the replicator. "Here you go. I've been hoping to talk to you about that."

"And what would you say?" He'd been expecting it -- sat back with his tea in hand.

Guinan tilted her head as if studying him. That was artifice, he suspected, because he knew she formed impressions but rarely reacted. "You're sure you want to marry this girl?"

He started to laugh. "Thank you, Mother."

But Guinan wasn't smiling at this point. "Do you really understand her as well as you think?"

"I still don't understand you as well as all that, and you've been aboard for much longer."

"It's not like you," she said.

Picard sipped tea and thought about it, and agreed -- it wasn't like him. He'd known that and ignored it. Just as he ignored the looks from senior officers and the comments from Fitz. "Is that a problem?"

"It might be." Guinan tucked her hands into her sleeves and gave him the classic inscrutable expression she favored when dealing with some young, foolish person.

"I could make it a problem. I could become anxious, and send her packing. I might decide as I've done before that it's too much of a distraction and I should focus on my work. But I don't think any of that is true, and I like her."

"You _like_ her."

Picard smirked at her sarcastic tone. "Well, no. Not just that. But I haven't found a compelling reason to reject her."

Guinan's smiled in her subdued fashion. "You want me to believe that just like that, you've changed your mind about being solitary for the rest of your life."

"If I had ever honestly decided that should be the case, there have been too many near misses." He finished his tea and put the cup on the counter. "And some of the things I've experienced have left me second-guessing and rethinking a number of choices I've made."

Guinan looked at him for another long minute.

"Are you seeing something in her that gives you concern, or perhaps I'm truly behaving in a manner that should cause concern? Have you spoken to her other than the time we were here together?"

"She came in a few times, just her -- she sits alone each time. Dr. Crusher joined her once." Guinan's smile grew warmer. "I think it's promising that you aren't showing any signs of doubt. She hasn't been so self-assured."

"What makes you say that?"

Guinan's head turned at the sound of the door opening -- she glanced back at him and nodded. "Would you like another cup?"

"Since you're offering."

"Good afternoon, sir," Riker said as he sidled up to the chair on Picard's right and sat down. He was in a great mood, grinning and relaxed. "Doing a little research?" He pointed at the padd on the bar next to the empty cup. Guinan turned away to get more tea.

"Yes, I've been approved for the leave I asked for, and after running a few errands in the morning, we're going riding at a stable in the north bay."

"That sounds like fun," Riker exclaimed. He'd gone riding on the holodeck with him a few times. He'd claimed to enjoy the experience despite the soreness. "Not exactly the romantic getaway I'd expect for newlyweds."

Picard scowled at him.

"If you want it to be a secret, maybe you should tell her not to mention it?" Will was unperturbed by the scowl. "I ran into her here in Ten Forward once, a few days ago. She seemed to be in low spirits, but she enjoyed talking." He smiled at Guinan, who set tea in front of Picard and brought a tall glass of something pink and carbonated for Riker. Will raised the glass to the hostess and took a sip. Then seemed to think of something, and turned to Picard anxiously. "I didn't -- "

Picard raised a hand dismissively. "I wouldn't assume that at all, Number One."

Riker glanced around the room. "She isn't here?"

"Today was a little overwhelming for her. She had difficulty understanding the admiral's anger. And she's still recovering from the encounter with the Cardassians, though Beverly says that she's healing rapidly."

Will seemed to be thinking too hard, and much less easygoing than he had a moment ago. But he said nothing and took a drink from his glass.

"What is it, Will?" Picard said quietly.

"Are you really married? After all this time and... everything?"

Picard contemplated his tea, and the penance he was doing for being so vocal all these years about making personal sacrifices in the name of Starfleet. He supposed that this would be the way everyone would react for a while.

"I understand why you would be interested in getting to know her better," Will continued, keeping his voice low. There were a few others in Ten Forward but they were out of earshot if they kept their voices down.

"You don't remember what Ian told us when he came aboard?"

"I remember it. I also remember a man who refused to let any entity define him or dictate the fate of the ship -- you believe in self-determination and the rights of the individual. I didn't think you would allow Betazed to determine when you married."

"I still don't let anyone dictate my fate." Picard put the cooling tea on the counter, and looked at his first officer and friend. "I'm simply not arguing with her about it. I'm trying to understand what's really going on, because I'm not certain she really is bound by this restriction that the Betazoids have -- she's half human, after all. It appeared to make a difference in the outcome of the confrontation with the Cardassians. She didn't die. She expected to, as others have. She has been expecting me to reject her since she knows that isn't the way we typically choose a mate, and she's willing to accept the consequences of that choice, whatever they are. I think there's a good chance that we might work it out, and I want to let that happen if it can."

"Isn't that a bit like leading her on?"

"If I were not sincere about something do you think an empath would stick around very long?"

"Oh," Will blurted. "Oh. Wow, you know -- there are probably some real benefits to an empathic mate."

Picard left the chair and started for the exit. "Not a conversation we're going to have. Have a good evening, Will." He made it out into the corridor, before starting to think about how much he was enjoying having Deanna around -- he was sure the smile would only stimulate his friend's imagination, and there were things he'd rather keep to himself.

The lift he was in made a stop on its way and Ian came in, with Fitz holding him up. "Hey," Fitz exclaimed happily. He wasn't wearing his uniform, which implied the two had been to Fitz's home sometime that afternoon. Probably to drink and talk some more, from the look of it. "Just bringing the wayward one back to roost."

"Deck five," Picard said. "Have a good time?"

"Oh, certainly," Ian replied, slightly slurring. He looked tired.

Picard saw them into the suite, and helped Fitz lower Ian into bed. The older man waved his finger vaguely.

"You take care of my girl," he mumbled as his eyes closed.

Picard led the way out of the bedroom and turned to Fitz as the door closed behind them. "Everything all right?"

"That would be my question to you. He's been drunk for a while, both of us actually but him more than me. He's apparently worried about his daughter more than anything else." Fitz crossed his arms.

"You know what Nechayev really wanted," Picard said.

Fitz said nothing, just pressed his lips together and looked steadily at him.

"What are the Cardassians doing?"

"Jean-Luc. You know better than to think I could talk about anything like that yet."

Picard eyed him for a moment. "We're going to immigration services tomorrow, to see about Deanna becoming a citizen. That is apparently being expedited through mechanisms that the fleet admiral had not explained when she instructed us to do it. She apologized to Deanna, which was out of character."

Fitz rolled his eyes. "I know. But you also know that it's not for me to discuss. Bring her to dinner at my place tomorrow evening, if you have the time. We'd love to have you."

"I'll let you know."

Fitz left, and Picard mused on that conversation for a few moments, then realized he was standing in someone else's suite and headed for home.

Deanna was where he'd left her, on top of the covers on his bed. When he came in, she moaned softly. "Hello," she murmured, sitting up slowly.

"It's almost time for dinner, or so my stomach is telling me. Feeling any better?"

"I am, but you are upset?" She looked up at him, her eyes hazy with sleep and her hair frizzing. She'd put on a large white shirt to sleep in. Her legs were bare and there were no panties

Picard sat next to her and rubbed her back, then put his arm around her. "There will be many days that something upsets me. It won't be you. It won't be something you can help either."

"Hm." She wrapped her arms around his ribs -- she kept doing that. He responded by doing the same, and turned to face her a little more, and before he knew it they were kissing. She slipped one of her hands up to the back of his neck and opened her mouth. When she pulled away, he found she'd settled astride his lap.

"I have found a stable -- after going to see about your citizenship, we'll go riding," he murmured. "What do you think?"

She pushed gently, and came forward, pushing him down on the bed. She slid right to put most of her weight on the bed and curled up against him, placing her open hand on his chest. "I think I will enjoy it very much. I think you are upset enough that you need it."

He stared at the viewports, at the gridwork of McKinley Station. "You are probably sensing some interesting reactions from my friends."

"They love you," she murmured. "They probably assume you're being impulsive."

"Are they bothering you?"

Deanna pushed herself up on an elbow to look at his face. Her hair was falling out of the braid.

"Are they?" he whispered.

"Bothered is the wrong word. How could I be bothered by their concern for you?"

He put his palm across his forehead and closed his eyes. "After we talk to immigration and you are a citizen we're arranging a civil ceremony. My friends will come, and then they will stop bothering you."

She blinked, and rather than the smile he expected she sat up more. "Given that would represent permanency to them, I'm not sure why that would alleviate their concern."

"It wouldn't. But it might drive the point home that they can stop questioning it."

"Why aren't you questioning it?"

He opened his eyes, to find her gazing down at him expectantly. "I fell in love, when I was much younger. I debated and felt so torn between career and staying on Earth -- it wasn't possible then to take a wife with you on a starship, and that wouldn't have been fair for her, sitting around waiting for me to come off duty. I fell in love with a friend's wife, and gradually stopped thinking about her. I fell in love with one of my officers, here on the _Enterprise_ , and it fell apart when she was put in danger on a mission. I fell in love with an imaginary wife -- "

Unexpectedly, the weight of it struck him dumb. His heart ached, at the mention of all the losses. And Deanna's tears of sympathy didn't help. She smiled sadly. "You don't want to lose this time," she said. "I don't want to lose you, either."

"I don't think you are bound by that Betazoid matching process. If you were, you would have found a Betazoid long ago."

"I do believe that I am, but that doesn't matter. You aren't bound by it. You should have the choice you expect to have."

"Well, then, everyone should let me make it, shouldn't they? If it's a mistake it would be easy enough for you to go your own way."

Deanna turned away, raising her hand to her face to rub the corner of her eye.

"Whatever it is the admirals want us to do, I want us to agree that if one of us doesn't like it, we walk away."

"What are you saying?" She turned back to him. "That you would leave Starfleet?"

"I have been in Starfleet all my life, Deanna. I've given my life a couple of times. Medical miracles and lots of surgery brought me back. Sometime I'll tell you more about that. There are other things that I could be doing, and I'm approaching an age where most human captains have decided to do other things because this is not what old men should be doing -- and if we are to have children, it may not be the thing I want to be doing."

She stared at him open-mouthed, and it struck him that the subject of children had not been so much as mentioned, and it probably shouldn't have been brought up in passing first.

"I don't want you to leave," he said, pushing past that. "I don't want to leave my wife sitting on a planet while I explore the galaxy. So if you want to stay, we can have the ceremony tomorrow, and we'll work out the future as it comes. You can keep your name or take mine. I love you."

Deanna studied his face -- he found himself almost holding his breath. He tried not to think of her leaving.

"Is there anything that I need for the ceremony? I know that it's the custom to dress formally, and that there is a ring?"

"Yes," he exclaimed, sitting up as well. "Yes. We can do that."

"How old is old, for humans? You said you were getting old. I don't think of myself as old."

He smiled at that. "Sometimes old is an age, sometimes it's simply how you feel. Are you hungry?"

"I'm starting to be. Let me put on a robe."

"Only if you are cold. I like you the way you are."

She had gotten to her feet and turned around to look at herself, then at him. "I have been told before, and it's apparent from what I've read, that human males like to look at the female's body in various stages of undress. I've always enjoyed dressing in ways that flatter my body, and Betazoids also have an appreciation for physical beauty, but I gathered that for humans, it's a part of sexuality."

"Yes," he said with a smile, touching the back of her thigh.

"I would like a longer list of things that you find enticing." Her lascivious smile was quite distracting.

"It would be more concise to simply show you a mirror."

Her laughter was wonderful, as was her stretching to put her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe. Her body warm against his, her lips against his cheek -- he had been reserving just a few final shreds of doubt, until now. She almost purred when he embraced her and kissed the side of her neck, holding her firmly against him and smiling. He felt rather than heard her sigh, her warm breath tickling his ear.

"Let's have something to eat," she said at last, stepping back and turning, taking his hand.

"I was thinking about the book you were reading before -- I think you might enjoy One Hundred Years of Solitude. It's a book about a family over the course of a century, in an isolated town. I thought we could read it together and discuss it...."

 


	18. Chapter 18

Picard sent the wedding invitation to the senior staff after dinner, after a bit of research via the computer led to finding a small but scenic facility that performed civil wedding ceremonies. Five minutes after he sat down with Deanna to a glass of wine and an explanation of civil wedding ceremonies, the annunciator sounded the arrival of the first protestor.

"You're expecting someone?" Deanna asked. She stood, heading for the bedroom to put on something other than just the shirt.

"Yes, actually. Come in," he said, as she vanished through the door.

Beverly strode in, still in her uniform and blue lab coat, and stood in front of him frowning.

"I am not crazy," he exclaimed.

" _Tomorrow._ What kind of party do you expect us to throw for you in less than a day? What the hell are you thinking?"

"I expect no party at all, frankly. You can show up and smile at the wedding, and then go on leave." He took a sip of the wine, since he was sure he wouldn't get another chance once she really got going.

"And what could you expect her to do for a dress? What am I supposed to do?"

The last time she had been this excited, she'd been arguing the finer points of why they should help a species versus the Prime Directive. Picard put down his wine glass and crossed his arms. "Wear something nice? Wear the dress uniform?"

The annunciator went off again, and her look of outrage turned down to a simmer as she turned and watched the door open for Will, with Data close on his heels. Both of them were smiling. "This where we're having the party?" Will asked.

"Might as well, he's being difficult," Beverly exclaimed.

"I will replicate some drinks." Data turned to the replicator helpfully.

Riker tapped his badge. "Riker to Yar - poker is on, captain's quarters."

"I appreciate that you're still referring to me by rank, at least," Picard sniped with a pretense of irritability.

"Riker to LaForge -- bring the chips and cards. Thanks, Data," Will said, as he was handed a glass of beer. 

"What if I'd rather not have a party?" Picard exclaimed.

"What if we know better?" Beverly said.

By the time Tasha and Geordi arrived, space had been cleared, the table moved to the middle of the room, the bowl of popcorn at the ready, and several glasses of beer had been passed around. Deanna finally returned, her hair braided and then coiled on the back of her head. She was now wearing a simple green dress that demonstrated that she had been doing research so she could fit in on Earth. She hesitated, watching people going to the replicator and chatting and setting up the felt on the table and starting to take chips out and stack them neatly near Data's left hand. He was sitting already and expertly shuffling the cards, visor in place.

Picard pulled out a chair for her and waited, which gained the attention of others. Beverly smiled at her and waved her over, and sat in the chair on her left. Deanna studied the table with a furrowed brow.

"This is poker?" she asked, turning to Picard. She accepted her wine glass from him and watched him sit down next to her.

"Do you know how to play?" Data asked.

"I've never played a card game before. How do you play?"

Data proceeded to explain, while dealing out cards. It was typical for Beverly to look like she was bored, for Will to look very interested in his cards, and Tasha generally sat there smiling like she'd just won the game. Data finished the deal and picked up his own hand, giving away nothing. Geordi's mouth twitched into an almost-smile. Deanna stared at the cards with confusion written across her face.

"Do you want help?" Picard asked.

"I'll give it a try," she said gamely.

Of course, the first hand went miserably -- she bet too much and Will raked in the pile of chips with a smirk. The mishmash of cards she'd played said she wasn't getting it. Beverly coached her through the next hand, she did better, but her third hand was nearly as miserable as the first.

"I'm going to understand this," she insisted, fanning her new hand. "Just give me another chance."

Picard watched her play another mix of bad cards and suspected that there was something afoot -- she was too smart to be playing like that. But Will raked in more chips with a grin, and Data shuffled. The next hand gave Picard a pair of aces. He watched and waited, and when Deanna started to put more money in than before he smiled and hid it behind his hand, feigning thoughtfulness. Will pushed two stacks of chips into the middle and Beverly folded. Picard folded and crossed his arms on the table, and watched.

"Read 'em and weep," Will said, dropping three kings and two fives on the table. Geordi, Data and Tasha tossed down their hands in defeat. Deanna frowned, then put down her cards.

"Does that work?" she asked.

Will stared at her hand while the others started to laugh. Deanna reached out with both hands and scooped the pile of chips to her side of the table. "You've been played," Geordi exclaimed, nudging Will with his elbow.

"A royal flush, that's impressive," Beverly said. "Not bad for a newbie."

"Daddy taught me when I was eight, so he'd have someone to play with. I didn't get good until I was fourteen, though."

"I'd guess playing with Betazoids wouldn't be much fun," Picard said.

Will looked properly chagrined. "I shouldn't have fallen for that."

"A pretty face gets him every time," Tasha said with a wink.

"Poker was derived from a French card game," Picard told Deanna while they waited for another hand. "It's been played for centuries. Admiral Fitzgerald is a good player."

"Will thinks he's a good player," Beverly commented.

"Where's Worf tonight?" Geordi asked. The Klingon had taken to joining them for cards over the past year.

"He's visiting his parents. Left this morning," Tasha replied. "I'll be going to visit friends myself, after the _wedding._ " Even after seven years of being the security chief, facing down aggressive aliens again and again, she could channel her inner gleeful child at the drop of a hat.

"It's not fair," Beverly exclaimed, indignant, picking up the complaint again. "Giving us half a day to get ready for a wedding!"

"It's a civil ceremony -- nothing elaborate," Picard replied with a matter-of-fact dismissive tone.

"Is that what Deanna wants?" Beverly exclaimed. Will finished dealing the cards, and then everyone was looking at him over their hands.

He looked at Deanna. "It's not my tradition," she said. "I would be fine without it." She smiled, looking at him, and thankfully no one commented on how she glowed at him.

"What _is_ the Betazoid tradition?" Geordi asked.

"When we find our mate, we move in together. Some like to have a party to celebrate. It depends on what the couple wants." Deanna studied her cards, shrugging a little. "I have a dress for tomorrow. It seems a simple enough ceremony."

"When I married Jack I didn't do very much, either. I almost wish I had. It would have been nice to have a dress, instead of the dress uniform."

Deanna looked at Beverly. "Would you like to see my dress?"

And then half the table was gone -- Tasha went with them, into the bedroom, where no crew had gone before. Picard shook his head and put his hand face down, and sipped the last of his wine.

"Not even enough time for a bachelor party," Will complained.

"Fine with me," Picard said with a smile. Bachelor parties he'd been to, including Jack's, had been raucous and not at all what he wanted at this point.

"Will Deanna be staying aboard, then, Captain?" Data asked.

"That's the general plan. Unless something changes."

The bedroom door opened and they heard Beverly calling out "wait," but Deanna emerged wearing the white dress she'd chosen and replicated. The low neckline and form-fitting bodice were eye-catching, to say the least. It was long, but didn't have a train. "She says I should wear a veil," she told Picard.

"You should wear what you want. If she wants a veil, she can get married."

Deanna beamed at him, noticed the stares from Will and Geordi, and went back in the bedroom.

"Nice dress," Geordi mumbled into his cards.

"Uh huh," Will said. "Are they coming back, or should we deal them out?"

"Have patience, Will. Want another beer?" Picard got up to get another glass of wine.

"Are you going to have a best man?" Data asked.

Picard returned from the replicator and put another beer in front of Will's near-empty glass, and walked around the table to his chair, sipping wine. "I could, I suppose. It would mean also finding a maid of honor, though."

"Are you inviting your brother and his family?" Will asked.

Picard had been contemplating just that for a few hours, and given the time zone differences likely he should have attempted contact with Robert before now. "Yes, but I'm not certain he'll come. Things are better but still strained, with him."

Tasha returned, still grinning. "Are we having a reception after?" she asked, her eyes bright.

"If you arrange one," Picard said amiably.

"All right," she exclaimed, glancing at Will. "You in?"

"We'll have two. A small one for the wedding party and guests, a larger one when everyone comes back from leave for the crew at large, in Ten Forward," Will said. "Just drinks -- we'll set them up for an hour each shift so everyone can toast to the health of the bride and groom."

"Good God," Picard muttered.

They smiled indulgently -- this was the end result of having friends in the ranks, Picard thought. They were treating him like a cranky old man.

Well, that made total sense, since lately he'd felt older than usual.

Beverly made it back to the table next, returning from the bedroom and scooping a handful of snack mix before taking her seat. "I repent, Jean-Luc. It'll be a beautiful wedding. She'll be a lovely bride. Are you going in dress uniform?"

"Aren't we getting new uniform styles?" Geordi asked. "Maybe you should see the new one before you decide to wear it."

"That's right -- we might all be wearing togas," Will said. "Bikinis. Grass skirts."

"Or evening gowns?" Tasha had been one of those who'd disliked the old dress uniform. She was attempting a joke but without the grin Will had.

"Computer, replicate one of the new dress uniforms for me," Picard said, once again leaving his chair. When he got to the replicator the first thing he noticed about the folded uniform was the gold braid. He shook it out by the shoulders and held it up.

"Wow," Will exclaimed. "Shiny."

"Hey, she tried on her dress, you should try it on," Beverly said with a broad grin.

"White isn't my color." Grabbing the black pants from the slot, he took the uniform to the bedroom, intending to put it away.

Deanna had put the green dress back on, and was hanging the white dress back in the closet. "What's that?"

"A reason to get married out of uniform," he said, tossing the pants and jacket on the bed.

"Is that a uniform?"

"We're all getting a uniform changeover -- this is the new dress uniform. I haven't seen the duty uniform yet. Not certain I want to, before I have to."

"You don't like it?" Deanna went to pick up the jacket. "You haven't tried it on."

Picard smiled at her as she held it up against her chest -- the shoulders were too wide. "Well... I had a bad hand anyway."

The pants puffed out around the tops of the boots. He didn't care for that. And the jacket was form-fitting. He stood in front of the mirror and wiggled the collar in hopes of decreasing the itching, strangling feeling. The red bands on the cuffs were the departmental grace note on the white and gold jacket.

"I have to wonder if Starfleet isn't trying to tell us something," he grumbled. Turning around, he gestured at himself. "What do you think?"

"It's better than the one you wore for dinner when I came aboard." She wasn't disapproving, at least.

"Come watch the mockery," he said, heading for the door.

Everyone looked up from their cards as he came in, and kept looking. Beverly's jaw dropped.

Deanna came out and dodged around him. "I like it," she said, reaching up to run a finger along a few inches of gleaming gold braid.

"At least it's not a dress," Tasha said. "Sir."

"The neck's too tight," Picard exclaimed. "One encounter with a red sauce, and we're out of dress code."

"But it's the uniform and we shall wear it," Beverly said sternly.

"Unless the bride decrees otherwise -- there has to be a tuxedo in the computer somewhere," Picard said.

"Are we going to play this game?" Will asked, holding up his cards forlornly.

Picard sat down, and played through two more hands. Deanna, now that she had outed herself, acquitted herself nicely, winning once and folding once. And then she watched Data collecting the cards, but before he could start to shuffle again, she said, "That's enough."

"Enough?" Data echoed, holding the deck in his fingers.

"I enjoyed playing cards with you, as he did. But I'm tired, and my doctor told me to rest when I'm tired. And he's tired too."

"Fencing with admirals does that to a man." Picard sighed and watched them getting up to start putting things away. He gathered chips, stacking by denomination, and once everything was off the table, folded up the felt.

"See you tomorrow with wedding presents and champagne," Beverly said over her shoulder as she followed everyone out.

The final act of cleanup was moving the table back to its place, toward the aft wall. They did that together. "While we're gone for a few days on leave I'll be able to have them rearrange a few walls," he said, accompanying Deanna back to the bedroom. "We'll have more space."

"I think I prefer that you wear something else tomorrow. I can tell that isn't comfortable."

"Thank you," he grumbled, tearing off the jacket. "Hopefully the duty uniform is different."

"You have strange customs." She dropped the dress in a heap on the floor, proving once again that she disdained underwear. "Beverly was talking about veils, and throwing things at us after the wedding, and told me that you shouldn't see me in the dress before the wedding."

"We used to be a superstitious lot, we humans. Those are all based in old myths and beliefs people had long ago. Just traditions now."

"It's important to you to be married."

He sat on the side of the bed and swung his legs up under the covers, and looked across at her. She was still standing there wearing nothing, reaching up to braid her hair slowly, which made her breasts swing as her arms moved. "It's difficult to explain why. It feels right to me."

She wrapped the end of the braid in a tie, and got in with him. "It feels like coming home. Thinking about it makes you happy."

"Yes."

"It reminds you of the place you mentioned, Kataan?"

That gave him pause. "It does, but I think as time passes I will think about it less. Because I have always preferred reality. That may have felt real. But I think this will be more satisfying, because it's something I'm choosing to do."

"It's very important to you to be able to control the direction of your life." She slid over to kiss him and curl up against him, something he welcomed -- she enjoyed being held in his arms while she fell asleep.

"It feels impossible some days, but I'm doing my best. And I think it's become more important as I get older."

"Hmmm, then perhaps leaving Starfleet makes more sense than it did."

She fell asleep shortly after her sleepy statement, leaving him to stare up at the ceiling and the view of the station, thinking about it.

 

* * *

 

The wedding was on a deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean, with just the senior staff in attendance, and Deanna's father. Ian walked his daughter down to give away the bride, though she'd argued with him about it. She had given in after finally understanding that it wasn't literally the case that she was being sold or traded away. It turned out Ian was sentimental.

Wesley, who had gone with friends to surf in Australia, had returned by transporter at his mother's command but yawned through the brief ceremony thanks to time zone differences. Robert and Marie had not enough notice -- Robert carped at him about it, scolded, and insisted that they come to dinner in a few days when all the drama was over. Apparently René was in the middle of a major project for school, Marie had been feeling under the weather, and the winery was in the middle of some major upgrade.

The reception was in Ten Forward, of course. Deanna took Ian back to his quarters; as short as the wedding was, the excitement of it wore him out. The rest of them went to the lounge and started to tell Guinan about the ceremony she hadn't gone to, by her choice, so she could be ready for them afterward. It gave Picard an opportunity to breathe for a minute, then go to each of his friends and thank them for their attendance and their support. They were looking at him with wide eyes and he wondered about that until he got to Beverly and she started to cry, and said, "Why are you making it sound like you're leaving?"

He blinked. Down the length of the bar, his officers were staring at him and waiting for an answer. "I'm not," he said at last. "I simply recognize that I'm not given to explicitly appreciating each of you for the good friends that you are."

Beverly clutched the front of her deep blue silk dress and exhaled. "Jean-Luc," she chided.

"Guess we all know someone who's married and changed assignments afterward?" Geordi said, leaning an elbow on the bar.

"I'm not leaving," he repeated, with a little more anger. "In fact, it may very well be that we have to recall everyone before the end of the two weeks. The fleet admiral is stressed, Admiral Fitzgerald isn't saying anything, and it looks like we'll be dealing with something in no time, because they are expediting Deanna's credentials -- she's a citizen as of this morning, which usually takes much longer than a day, and I suspect she'll be a member of the Diplomatic Corps by the end of the week."

Now they were all gazing at him seriously. "Something is afoot and they want her on it? The Cardassians?" Will exclaimed.

"That's what she suspects -- she thinks the next attempt they make will be applying for Federation membership."

No one seemed to like that idea. Most of them had facial expressions ranging from ill to worried. "Going from torture to being friends? Honestly?" Wes said softly, almost to himself.

Deanna returned then, and everyone watched her walk across Ten Forward, past each of them to his end of the bar, where she came to a halt in front of him. She was wearing heels tall enough that she could look him in the eye. 

"How is he?" He assumed the fear was about her father.

"I hope we're able to get him in soon," she said with a sigh. She glanced at Beverly, who was standing next to him.

"Actually I wasn't able to tell you because we were all about the wedding earlier, but I was contacted this morning -- I heard from Dr. Linal, he's able to see both of you tomorrow. I made a strong case for urgency, I wanted to get you both in as soon as possible." Beverly took a step away from the bar. "Is your father resting? Do you think it's more than being tired? I should go check him."

"Thank you," Deanna said, and hugged herself as she watched the doctor leave. 

"Maybe we should postpone the party," Will said. 

"He's done so well up until now -- I told him not to drink so much yesterday," she exclaimed. "I used to order whiskey of some kind for him, but stopped when it became obvious it exacerbated his symptoms."

Picard took a wine glass from the collection on the bar and handed it to her. "A toast, and we can celebrate later. After your father is all right."

She looked into the glass at the wine, and shook her head. "Wait for Beverly to come back."

And so they did. They sat down at the large round table set for them and waited. In about half an hour she returned, and everyone watched her approach and take the last chair, between Tasha and Data. "He's fine. Sleeping now. He told me to come back and enjoy myself."

"Good," Picard said. "Then we can have that toast, and a piece of cake."

"We're not going to toss the bouquet or anything?" Tasha exclaimed.

"I understood that was a tradition intended to discover who would be next to marry," Deanna said.

"Maybe we should take a pass, Tasha," Beverly said. "I don't like those odds." She picked up the wine glass in front of her. "To the bride and groom -- we've known him well, and we hope we have the opportunity to know and love her just as much."

"Here, here," Will exclaimed, and everyone raised their glasses. 

The low key conversation was preferable to whatever hijinks Riker had intended, Picard thought, and sat listening to Deanna talk to his friends about how long they had been aboard, how long they'd known him, and the stories started. Tasha was trying to explain Q before long, and confusing her to no end.

"What do you mean, he took you off the ship? How?" Deanna asked.

"He's powerful enough to just remove us with a snap of the fingers," Geordi said. "We don't know how. One minute we were on the bridge, the next we're somewhere else."

"Q pretends we are inferior," Will said, drinking his wine and setting the empty glass down on the table. "I think it's all smoke and mirrors."

"Fakery? So he's powerful enough to fool you," Deanna said. "How?"

"It feels real enough, but we've encountered beings with psychokinetic abilities, or telepathic abilities, strong enough to create or make us hallucinate entirely different environments -- it's documented by starship captains going back a couple of centuries," Picard explained. "Q also was able to throw the _Enterprise_  across the galaxy, however. That part was not fakery."

That unfortunately reminded everyone of their encounter with the Borg. Deanna scanned the serious faces around the table, and turned to him with a similar expression. "He was responsible for introducing you to the Borg."

"I am curious how you came to that conclusion," Data said, while everyone else stared in shock.

"He feels as he does when he told me about the Borg. And you are all feeling varying amounts of similar feelings," Deanna said. "Except Data, of course. The Borg appear to be more of a threat than this Q was."

"So far," Picard said. He had to admit that Q hadn't really permanently damaged anyone yet. Though it could be argued that throwing them in the path of a Borg cube might have been fatal.

"So you are telepathic again," Tasha said. She'd finished her wine and moved on to some mixed drink Guinan had brought her. 

"Empathic," Deanna said with a crooked smile. "Useful for understanding who is lying to you without being intrusive."

"I feel like I should apologize to you," Beverly said, smiling ruefully across the table at her. "I'm sure you may have been picking up on my concern."

"Since he appears to expect you to be upset on his behalf at times and accepts that, it doesn't upset me." Deanna glanced up at Guinan as the hostess put a full wine glass in front of her. "Why won't you sit down and join us?"

Guinan hesitated, and for a minute Picard thought she would just go back to the bar, but she turned and pulled another chair over. Geordi and Data moved over, setting off a chain reaction around the table to make room for another person, and Guinan sat between Deanna and Geordi. She took off her large purple flat hat and dropped it on the table.

"It's a new day all around," Picard commented. "I thought she'd never join us."

"Should we get the cards?" Data asked.

Picard smiled at that. "No, Data, we're doing fine."

"The captain tells me you will be staying aboard," Guinan asked Deanna. "Have you any thoughts about what you might want to do while you're aboard?"

"A few. I'm waiting to see what the admirals expect."

 "So how many negotiations have you facilitated, since you started doing that?" Guinan asked. 

Deanna clearly hadn't thought about that. She contemplated for a bit before answering. "At least fifty-four, over the last twenty years."

"That's a lot of worlds," Guinan commented. She had her head propped on her hand and looked much more relaxed than everyone else. "Why doesn't Betazed have its own Federation of Planets?"

"I suppose they do, in a way. It's just never really been named as one. But I would say that if they were threatened by someone, there would be considerable defense mounted by our friends."

Picard drank wine silently and slowly, while his friends asked questions of her. It was a good start.

When Nechayev contacted him directly some time later, it brought an abrupt end to the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next week - off for a while.


	19. Chapter 19

Picard heard his name being called, and halted in the corridor, half-turning to watch Will catching up to him. He, too, had put on a uniform -- the new one, gray with black shoulders, red undershirt. They stood for a moment looking at each other, smiling with the wry amusement of those forced to wear the latest thing they didn't choose.

"I still wonder who comes up with these designs," Will said. "But I think I like it better than the last one. Everything okay? You don't usually wander around on deck twenty-four."

"I'm just walking and thinking. It suits me more than sitting and thinking, at the moment."

They turned together and started to walk along the deserted corridor. "I guess you have a lot to think about. What did the admiral say?"

"We're likely to be heading out on diplomatic endeavors soon." He had left Ten Forward to respond to the admiral's request to speak to him -- ended up in the ready room discussing the duration of the _Enterprise'_ s stay at McKinley to make the repairs and upgrades in progress, some of which were overdue. Nechayev wanted them to be under way as soon as was practically possible. She made it clear they were about to be sent on a series of diplomatic endeavors and asked that he send Deanna down to meet regarding an assignment to the Diplomatic Corps. She had been gone for four hours so far. It was becoming obvious that the ample leave that they had hoped to have would be cut short.

"I'd guess they would want to solidify some ties with some of the less friendly species, now that we don't have to focus on the war," Will mused.

"Will, why are you in Starfleet?"

It literally stopped him in his tracks. Picard stopped two steps later, and turned back to wait for an answer. Will actually pondered it before answering. "It's what I do. It's where I belong."

"That's been similar to my answer, for quite some time. If we remove all the window dressing of the high-minded goals and aspirations of expanding the Federation to build peace and prosperity across the galaxy, it's what keeps us here, isn't it? But why are you still here after nearly ten years?"

It was a familiar conversation -- the old back-and-forth about why he hadn't taken his own vessel. Will shrugged. "I find this posting continues to suit me. It's a good one. I know that officers who stagnate somewhere are sometimes left there, but the offers of promotion that I've had didn't sit right. I guess I've been going with my gut feeling that this is where I belong."

Picard considered this, crossing his arms. "I wonder if we've built up an illusion of a family."

"What?" Will said with a guffaw. "Sir?"

"There are admirals younger than me. Geordi should be in charge at Utopia Planitia. Data -- "

"Captain," Will exclaimed, clearly dismayed. He regrouped and started to walk again, and so Picard did as well. "Jean-Luc. I understand what you're saying. But this is a unique ship. We're a team, we work well together. Why break up a crew that works this well?"

Why, indeed? Picard turned a corner, Will came with him, and they went into a turbolift. He turned to face forward and said, "Deck five."

"I don't think any one of us would want to be anywhere else," Will said.

"And that may be the most compelling reason of all to promote and move on."

"You're saying that we should -- "

The lift stopped and the doors opened, interrupting, and a short person raced in and collided bodily with Picard. "Alexander?" he exclaimed, holding the boy away from him.

Worf's son was a little taller but the frown was familiar. He and his father had to be fighting again. "Sorry, Captain," the boy exclaimed, standing back. "Deck eight," he told the computer.

"Are you returning to the _Enterprise_?" Will asked. The boy had been back and forth to his grandparents' home twice so far, with Worf using the war as a justification for it but Alexander had the persistent belief that his father simply didn't want him there. He'd been on Earth for the past six months.

"I guess," Alexander replied without enthusiasm.

"Well, I'm happy to hear it," Picard said. "I think you should come meet Deanna."

Alexander eyed him, startled. "Who?"

"My wife. I suppose you could say that things have changed, while you were gone."

Unexpectedly, the young Klingon grinned. "Wow. Congratulations."

Will was a little surprised by this exchange. He glanced at the boy and back at Picard. Since the accident with the transporter last year, Picard had an easier time with Worf's son. Being temporarily reduced to one of Alexander's peers had resulted in one of the most awkward captain's log entries to date, as well as a new appreciation for the smart little boy.

"Is that the new uniform?" Alexander asked. "I like it."

"I'm not sure I do, but we'll see. This is my deck, we'll see you later, Alexander." Picard stepped out as the doors stood open. 

Will followed him, leaving the boy to go on to deck eight. "I didn't realize you were on speaking terms with him."

"We vanquished the invading Ferengi together."

"Oh, yes. You were much younger then," Will said with a grin. "Cute as a button, too."

"One wonders about the etymology -- I've never seen a cute button."

As they approached Picard's door, Deanna came from the other direction. She wore the blue dress she'd put on to beam down to Command. She smiled at him, but it was a much-diminished smile from the ones she'd given him before.

"Everything all right?" Picard asked.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm a little tired. The meeting went longer than I anticipated."

"I'll see you later, Captain," Will said. He smiled and nodded to Deanna, and went onward down the corridor.

Picard went inside with her and got them both a cup of tea. "So how did it go? You seem a little shocked."

She sank down on the couch and took the cup of orange pekoe he handed her. "I am. I'm wondering if you could help me understand some of what happened."

"I can try."

Deanna frowned as she thought about her experience and sipped her tea. Her defeated expression worried him.

"What worries you the most?"

"They gave me a list. I am expected to research these species and approach them on behalf of the Federation. I'm not sure I can do this."

Picard studied her face -- she spoke softly, her eyes downturned, and she wasn't at all the strong, confident woman who'd come aboard and stated her opinion so firmly, even ordered them around. Which led to thinking about what Ian had said -- where the boundary between the individual and the larger mind of Betazed might be. He put a hand over hers, where it rested on her thigh as she held her cup in her right hand.

"Which species?"

She looked at him with surprise. Inhaled, and took another sip of tea. "There are six -- I'm most concerned about the top two, the ones they want me to approach first. Cardassians, as we expected. And they want me to attempt a diplomatic contact with the Borg."

" _What?"_

"Admiral Norris informed me in his sweetest, kindest tone of voice, that if anyone could manage it, he believed it would be me. Since he didn't believe a word he said it sets me ill at ease, as you could imagine," she said acerbically.

"Oh good God," Picard exclaimed. Norris was a mistake, the wrong one to send to meet with Deanna. He'd probably done as a number of admirals had always done, listened to a few logs and made assumptions. The longer he was in Starfleet, the more Picard despaired of being able to simply state his case and get somewhere without taking into account the personality of his audience. "I'm going to contact the fleet admiral about this. They can't possibly expect us to get anywhere with the Borg. What kind of fool's errand -- who else was in this briefing?"

"The Vulcan and Andorian ambassadors, and Admiral Derroban. They were cordial and when I explained my abilities and my experience they acknowledged it and did me the courtesy of not lying to my face. Ambassador Sarek was most polite and quite interested in learning more about Betazed. I gather he might be sent to meet with them soon. I did my best to give him information that I hope will help him succeed in that endeavor."

He almost started to tell her what he knew about the people involved, but checked himself and ignored the impulse. "What do you want to do about this?"

Deanna put aside her tea cup and looked as though she might be feeling ill, her arms held against her stomach. "I don't know yet. Daddy is supposed to see the doctor tomorrow morning, as I am, and until I know more about his health I don't feel I should commit to anything completely. And I need more information from you about the Borg. I want to know more about your experience with them. I know you won't be happy to do it, but I think it's necessary."

"You wouldn't settle for simply accepting my wholehearted conviction that diplomacy won't work with them?" 

She made an attempt at a smile. "I wonder if you might be speaking out of bias."

"A definite possibility. However, I know very well that the Borg have no interest in befriending anyone. They assimilate rather than waste time talking about anything. They obtain information and technological advances that way -- peaceful co-existence is also accomplished by assimilating others. Guinan's people were among those species that have been nearly eradicated by them. They are afraid of no one. The destruction of a single vessel simply leads to their deployment of many vessels."

Deanna was obviously shifting gears, thinking about this from a more strategic perspective; her calculating expression returned. "What do they want?"

"Technology. If your mechanical advantages are sufficiently interesting, you are assimilated. If you are more primitive, have nothing advanced enough to offer, you are destroyed. Or ignored completely. My assimilation was an attempt on their part to have more information on the Federation -- they used me to acquire data on what it would take to assimilate the entirety of the Federation. They failed in that initial effort, because of the _Enterprise_. I can only suppose we have not seen or heard from them in the past few years because they are building a force to send that they feel will succeed."

"Can you show me what a Borg looks like? Is there a way to use the holodeck?"

He groaned. That sounded like hell. But he understood what she was trying to do. "Come on."

"I'm sorry," she said as she followed him out the door.

"You want a crash course on the Borg. It may be the best thing to simply give it to you." He put an arm around her and walked her to the turbolift. "Not the easiest thing, however."

Once on the holodeck, he asked for a simulation that Data had prepared for him, to attach to his report after Wolf 359. The computer re-created the lab Data had used to study Locutus, with the instrument-laden dais in the center of the room. It was startling to once again confront his image -- the assimilated version of himself stood frozen in time, his face set into the weary pained expression that reminded him all over again of the incredible pain of having his body taken over, the ensuing surgeries, and the following months of recovery, enduring the attentions of counselors and doctors. 

Deanna's reaction was enough to distract him, however. She stared at Locutus, the Borg version of her husband, and became frozen in time herself -- shocked, then her face changed, as tears began to tremble on her lashes and fall down her cheeks. Slowly she went closer, peering up into the face of the holographic Locutus, then surprised him by stepping up, hanging onto the framework around the Borg to look at the implants more closely. She touched the cheek and then the eye implant over the Borg's left brow.

Picard watched her examine the hologram closely. She stepped away at long last, and came to him with wounded eyes.

"What was it like?"

He tried not to sound angry or anguished, even though this was causing both. "You were in agreement, when you acted on behalf of Betazed. I had some awareness but very little control. They used my knowledge to attack Starfleet. I had to watch hundreds of officers die. The Borg are nothing like us. They have no families, no children, no sense of ethics. They pursue resources. There's no happiness or any other purpose other than the survival and the development of the Collective."

Deanna stared at Locutus again for a moment. "Alive but not alive. All of them work toward the goal of improving the Collective -- set by whom? Who was the first Borg? How did this even begin? Who would do this to _anybody_?"

"All valid questions. Unfortunately I have no answer. I did not have sufficient self control while connected to the Collective to access the answers."

"You would also likely not know who in the galaxy that they would find threatening," she mused.

"Since we are not completely certain where they originate, it's difficult to begin to theorize about answers to that."

"We should ask Betazed."

Picard blinked in surprise. "We should?"

"I have never been aware of the Borg. It doesn't follow that Betazed is not aware -- there may be old memories that I've never accessed, simply because there has been no real reason to think about it. If we asked they would answer, especially if you tell them you believe the Borg are on their way here to the Alpha Quadrant. They would think about it, and possibly be able to tell us if they are within this quadrant as well." Deanna took his hand, and seemed to have regained her equilibrium. 

"Then we should compose a message as soon as possible. And then you should get dressed for dinner. Now that you've dragged this out of the past, you have an obligation to distract me from this particular trauma."

He deactivated the holodeck on the way out, and she walked close at his side. "How were you able to defeat the Borg?"

"Data transmitted a command through their network, effectively putting the entire cube into sleep mode. And yes, Starfleet has been examining the possibility of altering their programming. I doubt, given the rapid rate at which they adapt and their exposure to our systems, that would be a viable strategy. They will have already implemented code to foil any such attempt."

"Usually with any species their strength is also their weakness. The Cardassians evolved out of desperation into what they are today -- from a peaceful, artistic people to militaristic and determined to never to see their children starve again. They are as intimidating as they can be, because they once felt weak and powerless."

Picard thought about how that idea might apply to the Federation. "What would you say the Federation's weakness is?"

"The Federation has ideals that can lead to blindness," she said, walking with him toward the lift. "The Federation can be viewed as weak by species that do not perceive peace as a viable option. Those who have battled long and hard to get what they have are usually expecting subterfuge, when they are approached by others wanting peace it's suspicious to them."

"So to earn the trust of someone like that, you feel that the approach should be modified. Which feels like manipulation to us."

"I think it may be that you want to offer what many species believe they cannot afford and cannot expect. Honest, open communication is not always the best way to handle those with a predisposition to mistrust."

"Does Betazed not approach other worlds the same each time?"

Deanna shook her head. "We are able to develop insight prior to meeting with a new species. The other issue your Federation experiences is related to the size of your organization and the inefficiencies inherent in that."

"It's your Federation now, too, you know."

She laughed quietly as they entered the turbolift. "Of course."

"Is it getting any easier, being here and separate from Betazed?"

"If you are with me." She smiled fondly. "We shall be distracting each other from our traumas, won't we?"

"Yes. But tomorrow, after your doctor appointment, we'll return to the topic briefly. We may get some time off yet."


	20. Chapter 20

The waiting room was nearly empty -- only a lonely lieutenant, on the other side of the room, sat quietly engrossed in a padd. Picard sat with Deanna's father waiting patiently. Ian was quite happy to have been given a good chance of full recovery. There was a gene therapy to address his condition that could be administered over the course of a month with weekly appointments, and he'd returned to the waiting room with a smile.

"Have you ever been to the English countryside?" Ian asked.

"A very long time ago. I'm recalling that it's beautiful -- green rolling hills. It should be spring there now."

"My sister is getting on in years, but she still has a stable there. She's been raising warmbloods all these years -- used to compete in dressage, apparently. I spent a good hour talking to her yesterday. I have arrangements to see her tomorrow if all went well today -- which as it turns out it did. She said she can't wait to meet Deanna." Ian regarded him thoughtfully. "Do you like horses?"

"As it happens I enjoy riding, yes. I have several programs on the holodeck but of course it doesn't compare to the real thing. I was planning to take Deanna riding, before we left Earth."

"You should come along then -- Genevieve has excellent stock."

"We'll see," Picard replied, thinking that the way things had been going, they might be waylaid again by Command.

The door into the back office opened, and Beverly came out -- she beckoned with a hand, and her serious expression made Picard leap up and obey. She shot a smile at Ian and went back in, pulling Picard after her.

"What's going on?"

Beverly led him down the hall past door after door. "Your presence is requested. She's in here." She turned right, pushing a door open and letting him go in. The door closed behind him and he realized she hadn't come in with him. But he was in a small room, and Deanna was sitting on a biobed in the middle of it. The way she was hugging herself and looking quite distraught was enough to make him forget about Beverly.

"Deanna?" He went to her, touching her thigh gently, looking up at her face.

"They are saying that I am mostly healthy."

"Mostly," he echoed, not liking the sound of this.

She looked him in the eye and put her hand over his. "They said it would be very unlikely that I would be able to have children."

"Oh," he said. "How do you feel about that?"

She exhaled, and dropped off the biobed to land on her feet. "I wasn't sure how to feel. You don't seem upset."

"I haven't thought about it, honestly. I'm still adjusting to having a wife. And there are several ways to go about having children. Did they tell you there was nothing they could do to reverse this condition?"

She glanced down at her bare feet and calves, below the edge of the sickbay gown. "I didn't ask," she murmured.

Picard wondered how she had turned timid this way. "Betazoid medicine is very different, isn't it? Do the doctors there discuss anything with you? Or are you simply treated and released? I have difficulty understanding how you didn't know there was a problem before now."

"I rarely went to doctors -- I've been fine, all these years. People on Betazed generally go when there are symptoms to address. Most are healthy. And I never had any reason to think about children or whether I could have them." Now she was hugging herself.

"Did they finish the exam?"

"I don't know. Beverly noticed I was anxious and stopped Dr. Linal, and then I asked for you."

"I think we should have them come back -- do you want me to stay and help you ask questions? Because they'll understand -- if they know you're new to this, it's not something you've experienced before, they'll explain things to you more carefully. They may be assuming you know more about what's going on. Our custom is to have a complete exam annually, to know if there are issues to be addressed."

Deanna smiled and leaned against the biobed. "Admiral Norris did mention something about an exam before I would be able to start -- is this what he meant?"

"Yes. I'm going to get the doctors. Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes," she said, relieved.

He left the room, and immediately Beverly approached from the end of the hall with another doctor. Both of them were in the new uniform. Beverly introduced him to Dr. Linal, a tall thin Trill man. "A pleasure to meet you, Captain," Linal said as he shook Picard's hand.

"Is she calmer now?" Beverly asked.

"She is. I wonder if you realize, if anyone has explained, that she's not from a Federation world and she isn't accustomed to our medical procedures?"

Beverly winced. "I didn't even think about it! She did well enough in our sickbay, maybe she was a little anxious, but I didn't do a full exam -- my focus was on her brain damage after the incident."

"Medical practices are quite different on her home world," Picard said. "She would like me to stay with her, if you'll allow it?"

"Of course," Linal exclaimed.

Picard turned and led the way into the room -- Deanna tensed at the sight of the doctors, and he wondered just how anxious she'd been. He moved to the head of the bed and tried to stay out of the way while the doctors apologized and resumed the exam, this time being clear about what they were doing and why. It seemed to help. Deanna occasionally asked a question, glancing at Picard first each time.

"I think we have a clearer picture of your overall medical needs," Linal said at last, turning from a display in the corner to smile at Deanna. "Any other questions?"

"Yes -- can you tell me which of the many things you talked about today need to be addressed?"

Linal looked at Picard, and at Deanna again. "The ones that you wish to address. You are healthy, and there are no functional impairments that I can see -- Dr. Crusher notes that you had a brain injury, but my scans here today show that has resolved after her care. There are many hybrids in the Federation and it's often the case that they develop issues related to the genetic differences between the parent species. In looking at your DNA and comparing it to the human genome, I see that Betazoids appear to have more genes than a human does -- what generally happens is that a first generation cross the offspring are viable, but when they attempt to have children the results are usually miscarriages, if they are able to conceive at all. We would have to use artificial insemination and edit the DNA of the result -- the fetus would then develop normally, and later be able to have its own children. Which would inevitably be hybrids themselves, but this is one of the few legal applications of genetic manipulation within the Federation."

Deanna nodded, though she seemed doubtful and Picard thought it was likely that he'd have to explain the explanation later. "Thank you."

Linal nodded to her, to Picard, and smiled at Beverly, then left the room without further ado. Beverly smiled at them. "I'll go to the waiting room -- let you get dressed. We should grab some lunch before we go back to the ship."

"Thank you," Deanna said warmly. "I'd like that."

After Beverly was gone, Deanna slid off the biobed and went to chair in the corner, where her clothing waited. "Can you explain artificial insemination?"

"You could have asked Beverly," he said. "My understanding of the process is very basic."

"But her explanation wouldn't be," she countered. "Does it hurt?" She stepped into the dress and pulled it up.

"The process involves harvesting the ova and sperm from the parents and combining them in a lab, then implanting the results in the mother's womb. It's not painful so far as I know."

She turned around, pausing in putting on her dress. Betazoids did not wear underwear, as he'd observed and finally asked about, and she saw no reason to adopt the habit. "A lab? So without sex? How strange."

"It's a technique that's been used on Earth for a few centuries. It helps those who are unable to conceive naturally." Picard came to her as she fastened the front of her dress. She liked blues and greens, and this one was a variegated blend of both. "Do you want to go to lunch?"

"I would. Daddy wants to go see his sister -- as I understand the best time for him to go is late tonight, to be there first thing in the morning?" 

"Yes. The time difference. He said that she raises horses and that we might be able to go riding if we go with him."

"I'd like to meet the family I've never met." She shrugged, though, and then she was hugging herself again. Rather than stand there watching her look so vulnerable, he put an arm around her to pull her to him.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't like feeling so ignorant," she mumbled into his shoulder. "It's so routine for them, to look at me and talk in terms I don't understand."

"I suppose your father didn't bring any medical textbooks with him, did he? No one expects you to know that terminology -- I'm sure they're used to explaining in simpler terms, not all humans understand it either. We should go, they're waiting."

When they reached the waiting room, Ian and Beverly were standing together and at the sight of his daughter Ian smiled. "How are you, Maverick?"

"Fine. Nothing horrible wrong with me -- apparently I'm a hybrid between a human and a Betazoid," she said with a smirk.

"That finely-honed sarcasm is genetic, you know," Ian said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Beverly tells me my old favorite restaurant still exists not far from here -- how do you feel about Indian food?"

"I have no idea. Is it anything like what I'm used to eating?"

"Is Betazoid food spicy?" Beverly asked, as they headed out of the clinic together.

"It'll keep you up at night," Picard said with a roll of the eyes. He'd been trying it. There were a few dishes he'd enjoyed, some not so much, and then regretted later at night.

They left Starfleet Medical and headed for the restaurant on foot. It was overcast, and Deanna commented on the humidity. She felt cold.

"Earth has a broad range of climates," Ian said, putting an arm around his daughter's shoulders. "Most of the time you didn't need a coat on Betazed. Might have to invest in one if you stay here."

Deanna glanced over her shoulder, over Ian's arm, at Picard -- he thought she wasn't too happy at the thought. "I probably will get one regardless," she replied diffidently.

They found the restaurant and tucked themselves away in a corner booth of the Bad Brahma Boys. "What ten year old named this place?" Beverly asked, plucking a menu from the stand in the middle of the shining black table.

"The food is the important thing," Ian said.

"You've been eating constantly since we left Betazed," Deanna said, eyes narrowing.

"I've been eating like I haven't seen my favorite foods in decades, and it's been wonderful. So I gain a few pounds, I'm told I was slightly underweight," Ian exclaimed, glancing at Beverly. They were sitting together facing Deanna and Jean-Luc across the table.

"Betazoid foods aren't an exact match for the nutritional needs of a human," Beverly said. "Once you start the gene therapy you may see an increase in appetite and a decrease in digestive difficulties."

Deanna seemed dismayed by that statement. Jean-Luc waited a moment but when she said nothing, he turned his head to look directly at her, getting her attention. When she still remained silent, he said, "I think you are not telling us how overwhelming everything has been for you."

Now that everyone was looking at her, she stared down at the table. 

"I've wondered," Beverly said with a sympathetic smile. "You're obviously well read and you speak standard well. But being from a culture so different from most human cultures I expected more questions. You can ask us, you know. We've helped others with the process of assimilation. Like the people we found in stasis, adrift near the Neutral Zone?"

"I've wondered whatever happened to them," Jean-Luc said. "But I think they were not experiencing the loss of connection on a larger scale. I imagine being disconnected from Betazed is something like losing a limb."

That resulted in sympathy from Beverly, and a sad smile from Ian. "She doesn't complain, but I know she's struggling. I tried to tell you, Maverick."

Deanna shrugged. "You did. But you also knew better than to try convincing me not to bring you -- I know how lonely you've been."

"Which leads me to wonder how you're doing, since it's probably also difficult for you," Beverly said to Ian. "You were on Betazed to call it home."

"Oh, I miss some things, but the worst part about being here so far has been watching Deanna trying to adjust. She has a way of ignoring her feelings and doing things anyway," Ian replied. "She's always refused my help. Wanted to do everything on her own since she was three years old. Stubborn as hell, with a smile and a twinkle in her eye -- you'd think she was doing you a favor being that way."

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it, Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked.

"Shut up," he said good-naturedly, waving off her implied accusation. The waiter came at last, with a smile and a padd. They ordered a variety of things, and Deanna again relied on him to choose something for her -- when the spicy red curry dish arrived steaming on a plate, she nodded approval and took a bigger bite. Conversation revolved around the food, for a while, until they were letting the waiter take empty plates and ordering an after-dinner beverage. 

 "What is it like, to lose a limb?" Deanna asked, turning to Picard as the waiter went away to get their coffees.

It took him a moment to backtrack and remember the context for the question. "There's a well documented phenomena called 'phantom limb syndrome' that often happens after the loss of a limb -- usually sensations of pain that appear to come from the lost arm or leg."

"When did you lose your hand?" She took his hand, under the table, where it rested on his thigh.

He noticed Beverly's surprised expression -- she took pride in her work, the artificial hand was convincing enough that most people didn't notice a difference. "When I was captured by the Borg. How did you know it wasn't my hand?"

"I can tell it isn't alive. I can sense it. It feels almost real to the touch, but there's no life in it."

"I can't tell," Ian exclaimed. "Artificial limbs have come a long way. It looks real."

The waiter returned and put a cup of coffee in front of each of them. After the young man was gone, Deanna tightened her fingers around his. Though it was artificial the hand had a sensor net that gave his nervous system the tactile feedback needed for it to function as a normal hand would.

"This syndrome you describe sounds like a good metaphor for what I'm feeling, now that I have no contact with Betazed."

"You didn't mention that in the exam with Dr. Linal," Beverly said, her tone mildly scolding.

"I didn't think it was relevant. Is it?"

"It's something that has an impact on your health, isn't it? Would you say you feel different as a result, and do you find that it's causing you difficulty?"

Deanna shook her head, and Jean-Luc noticed she was hugging herself again. "I just feel so small."

He thought he understood that well enough -- he'd felt that way, after being cut off from the Collective. Of course, the pain had taken precedence, and he'd not been conscious for very long at a time, for a while. "You feel alone. Powerless?"

"I suspect you were also accustomed to being able to draw on the wealth of information in the collective consciousness," Ian said. "Now you have to read, or ask, and it feels cumbersome?"

Beverly was gazing at Jean-Luc, probably thinking about the Borg too. She'd been one of the few he had spoken to in any real detail about the experience. "It might help you to talk to one of the counselors," she suggested.

"What would that do to help?"

"It's what humans do sometimes to help them sort through difficult emotions and conflicted thinking," Ian said. "She's right, you should try it."

"Have you ever done it?" Deanna asked her father, but also turned to look at Jean-Luc. So he answered.

"Yes, it's one of the resources Starfleet provides to help officers who've had traumatic experiences. I can introduce you to the counselor, when we come back from leave."

"Oh, good," Beverly exclaimed. "So what wonderful place are you taking her? I was afraid you'd let the admirals keep you busy and never go."

"We're going with Ian, to his sister's in England, and from there I think we'll wing it."

"Wing it?" Deanna echoed.

"Decide when the time comes, on our whim," he clarified.

Beverly picked up her coffee. "Good. I think you should consider something isolated and quiet. Just the way you like it so you can read."

"That sounds nice," Deanna said. Beverly blinked in disbelief.

"She was teasing me," Jean-Luc explained. "That's one of her less official duties, or so one would assume."

Beverly nudged Ian's arm with her elbow. "You know, they are perfect for each other. Honestly. You wouldn't believe what we've had to do, to get him to go enjoy leave somewhere."

"I think I have an idea. Something similar to what I had to do, to pry her out of a book and get her outside to play, or to walk in the sun," Ian said with a smirk at Deanna.

Deanna sighed and leaned on Jean-Luc's arm. "They're laughing at us."

"I'm certain they mean well enough. Where are you going on leave, Beverly? Now that you've completed this morning's task."

"None of your business, Jean-Luc." She put down the cup and slid out of the booth. "I'll pick up the tab, if we're ready to go?"

It was a short walk to a public transporter, where they were picked up and rematerialized on the ship moments later. They rode in the lift together but departed on a different deck than the others, everyone bound for quarters to pack and rest until they were to beam down to England much later in the day.

Since neither of them could sleep this early, they settled in with books, sitting on the couch. Until he noticed her looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and turned to look directly at her.

"I was thinking about my father and mother," she explained. "How close they were. She was able to communicate with him telepathically."

"So you're wondering if you can do the same?"

"It isn't polite to do that without permission. Betazoids are very careful not to assume."

He closed his book, a murder mystery, and nodded. "Why don't you give it a try?"

She seemed tense, then squared her shoulders a little and closed her eyes. The contact was subtle, then stronger -- the words formed in his mind but it was not at all like thinking them, they were simply there, and without question it was her. < Are you able to understand what I am saying? >

"Yes," he replied. And he thought the rest -- asking if she was able to hear his thoughts as well.

Deanna beamed, even cried a little, and it was good to see her so happy again. "Oh," she said with a sigh. "I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to, now that I'm not at all connected to Betazed. Is it comfortable? Would you mind, if I...."

"Not at all," he said. If it helped her feel better, why not?

He attempted to return to reading, as she picked up her own book again, but there was something there that hadn't been and he found it distracting. It was as though she was present in his mind, not speaking but there, and he found himself thinking about that. She decided then that she was also too distracted to read. Then she thought she might rather be sitting with him, or even in bed.

He started to laugh.

She smiled, raising her head a little, as she set aside the book. "Jean-Luc?"

"You have my attention. I'm not sure I can get to where you're headed, however. Maybe if I were younger."

"I don't understand." She was simultaneously wondering what his age had to do with it.

"I'm guessing based on what I've seen so far that Betazoids age differently. If you are expecting sex every day that may be beyond my abilities. Human life spans have increased, yes, but I'm almost halfway through the average life span, and as a Starfleet officer who's been in sickbay often I'm probably also more battered and prematurely aged than most. Sometimes I feel older than I am."

She didn't reply, and looked sad -- and thought that he might be making an assumption that wasn't true. "What if I just want to touch you, and be in your arms?"

Jean-Luc didn't question it further. He went with her to the bedroom, removed his boots, and lay in bed with her -- on his side, facing her, arms around her as she curled up against his chest with her cheek against his shoulder. Her presence continued, and he realized that she was feeling lonely. Sad. There was a little susurration of pain, that he thought he recognized. 

"It gets better," he murmured. Thought about it getting better and about being happy -- about the joy she'd had upon discovering she could still connect with someone telepathically.

She sighed, and tried to relax. But he accepted that it wouldn't be that simple, and she took some comfort in that.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the fantasy elements of Star Trek has always been the incredible compatibility between species from different worlds. Whether it's food, infectious diseases, or crossbreeding, everyone is too compatible.

The house was modestly sized, looked like a three bedroom two story brown dwelling with a steep roof. The property around the house was gorgeous. Trees in open fields, white fences, and horses. Two or three in a paddock, standing around water troughs, under shade canopies, or grazing. There were four paddocks along the left side of the road leading up to the house, and a pasture on the right where a small herd of horses with foals were grazing. It was early morning, and dew was turning to mist in the sunshine.

The transporter put them on the road within easy walking distance of the house. Ian grinned, turning in place, taking it all in. The sound of a door opening got the attention of all three of them, and Jean-Luc put an arm around Deanna to steady her. He had, in the scant hours that she had been in contact with him mind to mind, discovered the effect that physical contact had on her. It was more than reassurance; he wondered if she might be connecting with him in some way similar to what she had had with the rest of Betazed. At his touch she became visibly less anxious. An older woman with silver hair impeccably swept up in a bun and wearing a bright blue dress came out of the house and down the steps.

"Genevieve," Ian exclaimed. He went forward, met the woman and they embraced tightly.

Jean-Luc was distracted by the movement of horses -- on either side of them, horses had come to fences, and stood looking at them. He looked at Deanna and saw she was watching them instead of her father. "These are horses," she murmured.

"Yes. They seem to like us. Or you."

"This is Deanna," Ian was saying, bringing his sister to them. "And her husband. Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

Genevieve looked a lot like her brother, same warm brown eyes, same smile. She was all about her niece, closed the distance between them and reached out for her, slowly, and Deanna stepped into the warm embrace as if accepting fate. When Genevieve stepped back and held her at arms length, she looked her in the eye. "What beautiful eyes you have."

"Thank you. It's so good to meet you at last," Deanna said. "Thank you, for the letters." She had said that there had been sparse correspondence, when she was able to order things for her father she had also sent messages on his behalf. It made sense that she had also corresponded with the family she had not met.

"Your father tells me you are here for good -- I want you to know that if you need a place to stay you are always welcome here," Genevieve said. "Though it sounds like you are already planning to work with Starfleet?"

"I have an opportunity to continue as a diplomatic envoy -- it's work I enjoy," she replied. "This is a beautiful place. I've never seen a horse -- only pictures. Are these a specific kind of horse?"

"Warmbloods are not a breed, but they are bred with performance in mind. Most of ours are trained in dressage, a few are jumpers. Your father says that you enjoy riding, as does your husband?"

Deanna nodded. "Not competitively, but yes," Jean-Luc said. 

"Come inside, you should meet the rest of the family." Genevieve waved toward the house and started to walk, Ian falling in step with her.

It was an interesting experience to be on the outside looking in, acknowledged and present but not the focus of the visit -- Ian and Deanna were the novelty, the center of attention. They were welcomed into the living room, which was furnished all in browns and tans, and introduced to Genevieve's son and his two children, both teenagers, and to Genevieve's second husband. Deanna was reserved and greeted them all cordially enough but seemed ill at ease. Ian was excited, talked to each person with enthusiasm, and spoke of his long absence in general terms, fielding questions about Betazed. After a short side conversation with one of the kids, Deanna came to sit with Jean-Luc on the sofa. 

He thought she might be uncomfortable, and she confirmed it. Threaded her arm through his, and leaned on him to mutter in his ear, "Maybe we shouldn't stay."

Jean-Luc smiled at her, and thought about regrets that he had been so long estranged from his brother. She sighed and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. 

"Is everything all right, Deanna?" Genevieve exclaimed, interrupting Ian as he described to Daniel and Teresa how different the animals were on Betazed. 

Deanna sat up and smiled at their hostess. "It's the time difference, I was only just become accustomed to ship's time and now this is early morning and I'm used to being asleep."

"Oh, yes, of course. You could take a nap -- Melody is making breakfast but if you aren't -- "

"I'm fine, honestly."

Melody turned out to be her daughter. Jean-Luc quietly went along, sitting at the table feeling invisible for once as Ian held court along with Genevieve and Melody. Perhaps it was that he had showed up out of uniform, perhaps the novelty of the long-lost Ian was the only thing on their minds. Deanna answered a few innocuous questions when asked. Then Ken, the second husband, looked across the coffee table at Deanna, and asked, "So Ian said Betazoids are telepathic? Does that mean you are?"

"Somewhat. I am half human," Deanna replied. She glanced at Jean-Luc and he could tell she was thinking about him, sharing that with him, and it surprised him a little to find that she hadn't expected to be able to share anything with him this way.

"So you can tell what I'm thinking," Ken said with a grin. He was an easygoing, smiling man, with dark brown hair turning gray at his temples.

"I can tell how you are feeling. I'm an empath."

 "What good is that?" Teresa exclaimed with more venom than the situation merited, as she shoveled a fork of eggs in her mouth.

Deanna gazed across the table covered with china and silverware and a banquet of breakfast dishes at the teenaged girl. "Where would you rather be right now?"

The girl blinked at her. "What?"

"You're angry and preoccupied, and you've been thinking about something else and paying very little attention to anything that's been said. If your thoughts are somewhere else that argues that you would rather be there as well. Also, you are missing someone. Given your age I would guess a boyfriend." Deanna went back to eating and clearly didn't expect an answer. Teresa stared at her second cousin unhappily. 

Daniel, and nearly everyone else on that side of the table, looked at the girl with concern. Her brother said, "It's Tom, isn't it?"

"Shut up." Teresa stabbed her second poached egg. 

Ian said nothing, but his expression did all the talking -- he seemed torn between pride and dismay, glancing at his daughter in warning.

"Do you have your communicator with you?" Deanna asked with a sidelong look at Jean-Luc.

"Yes, why?"

"Just wondering." She shared with him telepathically that she could tell something was going on -- that she had started to sense disturbance from his crew. She had started to acclimatize, feel more at home aboard the ship, and now she was aware of the crew being stressed, where there had been no stress. Most of them were on leave.

"Are you taking Deanna riding after breakfast?" Ian asked. "She loves to ride."

"But you said you'd never seen a horse," Genevieve said. "What did you ride?"

"Bigger, stronger creatures," Jean-Luc said. "Beautiful ones."

""We can set you up with some horses," Ken said. "We don't have easy horses, though. Well trained, but spirited and used to experienced riders."

It was Ken who took them out the back door, with Melody -- she led them to a large barn and the attached corral, looking over the fence at the four horses inside. Three were bay and the largest a chestnut with a blaze down its face. Melody went through a door, returned with a saddle and draped it over the top rail of the fence, went back inside. Ken went to pet the bay when it stuck its head over the fence.

"You might like this one, Domino is a good jumper but he's perfectly happy to lope through the woods if you ask him to," Ken said.

"I'm asking them which one wants to go," Deanna said.

That caught their attention -- Ken turned to stare at her, and Melody stopped with the second saddle in her hands, frowning. They turned at the sounds of hoofbeats and watched three more horses arrive, and somewhere inside the barn another horse started to neigh anxiously.

"Telepathy works on horses?" Ken asked, as Deanna stepped up to the fence and the horses pushed at each other to get her attention, dangling their heads over the fence to reach her outstretched hand.

"It works on a lot of species, I'd guess," Jean-Luc said. "So which one?"

"This one," she said, running a hand down the face of one of the bays.

"That's Tibbins, she's a handful," Melody exclaimed. "I'll get a bridle."

"No, that won't be necessary."

It took a little time to saddle the other three horses, which Melody chose. She gave Jean-Luc a dappled gray gelding that she brought out of the barn, and the other two were bay mares that had been in the corral. Their hosts were nervously watching as Deanna leaped up on her mare's back but the animal stood still, tossing her head a couple of times. Ken led them off, along the corral fence and through a gate into open fields, and when they started to trot and then canter, both he and Melody glanced back at her.

Then Tibbins tossed her head and started to run. As Deanna rode past them, Ken gave a shout and Melody gave chase -- Jean-Luc kicked his gelding and it surged eagerly after them. Deanna led them over the fields, across a stream, over a few obstacles -- a bench, a hedge -- and back to the barn at long last. The horses slowed to a walk and lined up at the fence.

Ken turned to Jean-Luc, after they'd dismounted and started to remove tack. "She's a good rider."

"I've discovered that it does not pay to underestimate her," Jean-Luc said. "She's good at quite a few things, actually."

The chirp of the commbadge in his pocket signaled the end of the visit.

 

* * *

 

 "Report," Jean-Luc demanded, striding into engineering. He hadn't bothered to change clothes, still wore the dark gray pants and jacket; Deanna, hard on his heels, still wore the tan riding outfit she'd worn to England. Here it was ship's night, and he knew from Geordi's similar civilian garb, a jacket and slacks in navy blue, a lighter blue shirt, that the engineer had been similarly interrupted on leave. 

Deanna was at this point exhausted, and staying upright out of sheer determination. He glanced at her and almost suggested that she didn't need to be there, but she had a stern expression so he said nothing and watched Geordi approach. 

"Sorry, sir," he said. "But I felt you should be aware of this one."

"You said there was an explosion?"

"The trunk EPS conduit blew a hole in the wall." Geordi pointed up, at the upper level aft of the warp core, currently dark as they were in dry dock. There had been damage to the core -- now that he was looking the cracks in the surface were obvious.

Deanna spoke while Jean-Luc stared in shock at the damage. "If the engines are offline, why would that happen?"

"Good question. The only real answer I have is intentional -- it had to be an explosive charge. The EPS system was offline as were the engines. Initial inspection revealed parts of what must have been a device -- there's a team on its way to start the official investigation, but -- I think this must have been sabotage, sir."

That was a sobering thought. There had not been in recent months anyone other than Starfleet personnel in the engine room, save Deanna and her father. "Well, there goes leave," he said with a sigh.

"I can keep you updated." Geordi looked just as grim about it, and was shaking his head.

"We'll be in my quarters. Contact me as soon as you have more information."

Deanna followed him out into the corridor, where they crossed paths with four officers on their way in, likely the team Geordi had mentioned. "Who could have done this?"

"The question of the hour. I'm afraid they'll want to talk to you and your father, though I'm positive neither of you would have done this you have been the only visitors we've had in engineering in a long time. The sobering conclusion I can make is that someone on my own crew or that of McKinley Station must have -- depending on where in the conduit the device was placed. As you would expect, only people with clearance can open panels or access points aboard a starship."

"Are we going to stay on the ship?"

They entered a lift, and she leaned on him as he asked for their deck. "At least until morning."

She didn't complain. The closer to their quarters they came, the more exhausted she appeared, and went in even when Will Riker approached from the other direction in the corridor outside their door. "What are you doing here?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Geordi contacted me too. Have you seen it yet?"

"Of course. Did you just come aboard?" Will wore shorts and a shirt, and his hair looked wet.

"I didn't want to go to engineering like this. What do you think? I have to guess it's deliberate, we're at McKinley."

"I'm afraid that's a given. Go have a look if you want -- but you needn't cancel leave for it. There are investigators in engineering."

Will propped his hands on his hips and glared at the floor. "Doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't. But we'll get to the bottom of it. I've had an extremely long day, so I'm going to bed until there's an update."

"I'll see you in the morning. I'm going to engineering."

Jean-Luc nodded, went into his quarters removing his jacket as he went, found Deanna had already climbed into bed. He went through a sonic shower, leaving his clothes on the floor, and went around the bed to slide under the covers. Shortly after he settled in, Deanna scooted over in her sleep to drape her arm over him as she often did. He sat up, concerned, putting a hand to her face.

"Deanna?" When she didn't respond, he asked for the lights and contacted sickbay.

Selar arrived as he pulled a shirt on. He went to let her in, led her back into the bedroom, and waited anxiously while she checked her over. "She has a virus. It should resolve with a strong antibiotic." The Vulcan applied a hypospray at the base of Deanna's neck.

"She isn't responsive, is that normal?" He'd had limited experience with viral infections.

"I will request assistance in taking her to sickbay. No, she shouldn't be unresponsive. I've given her an initial dose but she should be monitored and other medication administered. I suspect that she has been having symptoms for a while and ignoring them, and this is why she is unconscious -- if we had treated it earlier she would not be so ill."

That led to waiting for two more medical staff to arrive and place her on a litter, wrapped in a blanket. He started to follow them but Selar gave him a steady, intense look. "You should get some rest, Captain. If you experience symptoms of the virus -- extreme fatigue, fever, nausea, headache -- come to sickbay. It is only a common virus -- she will be fine."

He watched them leave his quarters, and went back to bed. His eyes were closed but he spent some time thinking about the past day or two, trying to remember signs that she might have been ill. He'd attributed her weariness to traveling between time zones and stress.

"Crusher to Picard."

"Picard here -- aren't you on leave?"

"I asked Selar to contact me if any of the senior staff ended up in sickbay. She's obviously considering spouses in that classification. She told me you'd contacted her about Deanna, had her come to your quarters. Why aren't you on leave?"

"There was an explosion in engineering. It's under investigation."

A pause. "I'll be there shortly. Crusher out."

Jean-Luc glared at the ceiling and the viewports, through which part of the station was visible. Typical, that they would be in drydock, and this sort of thing would happen. Eventually they might get a day or two of leave without interruption.

He slept fitfully and finally went to sickbay in the early morning, to find out how Deanna was doing. Kicking himself a little for not noticing that she'd had symptoms had been part of what kept him awake. Clearly she was still not telling him everything. She'd said she was fine, when he'd asked, when he'd noticed her weariness.

She was in one of the beds in the main sickbay curled up on her side, bundled in a blanket and apparently asleep. And Selar wasn't there -- Beverly was, looking impeccable in the new uniform.  She stood at the head of Deanna's bed, and looked up at the sound of the door, then waited with crossed arms as he approached.

"How is she?" he murmured. His hand came up, but he stopped himself before he touched the body of his wife, still curled up and facing away from him. He saw Beverly's eyes track the movement, and an obstinate impulse arose in him -- he moved with purpose now, touched Deanna's shoulder and let his fingers slide down her arm.

Deanna moved under his touch, rolling carefully so as not to fall off the narrow biobed, and sat up -- it was a relief to see her tired expression, swollen eyes and all. She reached for him and he took her hand. "She scolded me," Deanna said, the rasp of weariness in her voice.

"I might do the same when you're feeling better. You didn't say you were feeling ill."

She winced, and turned toward him, swinging her legs off the bed. At that point Beverly moved away, heading into her office without a word.

"I am better. She wants me to stay here until morning, the start of alpha shift, though. Then I'm supposed to rest for another day. Whatever they gave me seems to have taken care of the infection. How did you know I needed help?"

"You were running a fever -- if I had touched your skin earlier I would have known sooner. You wouldn't respond when I tried to wake you up."

Deanna dropped off the bed to her feet and stepped up against him. Putting his arms around her was the only reasonable thing to do, as she once again shared her thoughts with him and he could tell she was upset. Mostly with herself, as she struggled with the changes in her life.

He stepped back to look her in the eye, sliding his hands down her arms to hold her hands. "I wonder if you don't want to ask all the questions you have?"

"There's too much on your mind already. The explosion, whatever your fleet admiral is up to -- my status as a Federation diplomat, as rushed as it was, which worries you more than you say it does. You don't  _need_ a naive woman who has to ask the computer every other minute what a word means, what the responsibilities of a Federation diplomat are, what I'm supposed to do with a brassiere -- "

He chuckled as she spoke and before she finished an exhaustive list of all the definitions she'd requested he kissed her. It led to her arms around his neck, her toes on his boots as she pushed in against him. He let go again, when he heard the door to Beverly's office open, and Deanna flashed him a smile and turned to climb back on the bed.

"Since you're up, why don't you come to my office?" Beverly studied him as she spoke. "You can bring your husband if you wish."

So they went, and sat down in front of the desk. Beverly didn't sit behind it, but reached over and retrieved a padd then leaned against it and offered it to Deanna. "This is for you. Recommendations, based on the physical and my observations -- Dr. Linal was able to make specific nutritional recommendations for your diet, and I made suggestions about possible physical fitness regimens. I've put the nutritional recommendations into the computer's replication subroutines, so when you ask for meals it will automatically adjust the food to meet those requirements. Just as Betazed's fauna didn't quite meet your father's needs, the typical Terran diet doesn't quite meet yours." Beverly watched her look down at the padd. "Everything all right?"

"I was just wondering where I could have gotten the virus. I've been visiting other worlds and other species for years without getting sick."

"It was a fairly common virus. I suspect you picked it up the first time you beamed down to Earth -- the majority of the population is immune to quite an array of virii and bacteria, but you have the disadvantage of never visiting and only having contact with Starfleet personnel, who are subjected to repeated visits to sickbay and live in a relatively clean environment of a starship. You may pick up another -- but you know the symptoms now, you should come see me if you start to feel the same way again. No need to let it get serious again." Beverly glanced at Jean-Luc, and back at her. "Is there anything else -- any questions you wanted to ask me and haven't?"

"I wanted -- " Deanna stopped herself, and Jean-Luc waited, but she didn't continue. So he nudged her arm with his elbow. When she looked at him instead of staring down at the padd in her lap, he gave a nod. It had the desired effect. "I wanted to ask you about the physical. About -- "

"I'm guessing you might be concerned about the reproductive issue -- are you trying to ask about artificial insemination?" Beverly said carefully, with a hint of a smile.

Deanna seemed to have lost the bravado again. "Yes," Jean-Luc said.

That seemed to put Beverly at a loss for words. At length she simply started to talk about the procedure. She described the preparation, having the mother start a course of hormones to prepare the body for the pregnancy, and stopped to watch Deanna for a moment. "Deanna? Are you all right?"

"Yes," Deanna replied breathlessly, attempting a smile.

"It's been a difficult few weeks, hasn't it?" Beverly asked. "You must feel like you've been completely uprooted and thrown into another life entirely."

"Hopefully it won't take you two years to adjust," Jean-Luc commented, thinking about his own stubbornness.

Deanna hung her head again. "It just feels like I should be doing something -- and I'm worried about -- maybe I should just go back to sleep," she said, sounding defeated.

"Maybe you should let her come back to our quarters," Jean-Luc said.

"You don't look like you're sleeping very well either," Beverly said. "I suppose you've responded that well to treatment -- if you need anything, come back. All right?"

"Go put on something other than the robe -- I'll be out in a minute."

Deanna went to get something else to wear, leaving them in the office. Jean-Luc looked at the doctor, who was gazing at him sympathetically. "She's having more difficulty than she anticipated."

"Is she wanting to have children already?"

"I think she's trying to focus on one thing that she might be able to understand, rather than admit to herself that she's overwhelmed." It was something he was familiar with -- the need to grasp at whatever concrete thing was available in the face of all the confusion of the reality he couldn't escape. It had driven him to the hills repeatedly, after he'd been pulled into the simulation of Ressik -- seeking the boundaries of what he thought must be some sort of illusion, using physical activity to deal with his agitation, then eventually seeking a solution to the drought. "I'll talk to her about it. Hopefully she'll be able to work through this."

"Let me know if you need anything," Beverly said. He thought there was a note of sadness there.

"Is something wrong?"

Beverly shook her head. "I don't know. I know better than to think she'd be entirely human, but when I try to get to know her better -- maybe she's not sure about me yet. Maybe she hasn't had a lot of friends, no human friends certainly. I just don't feel that I'm making much of a connection with her. But she's obviously struggling with everything, so I can't take that personally. I hope she starts to adjust soon."

"I think she will."

They returned to main sickbay, and found her in a replicated blue dress. He accompanied her from the room, down the corridor, to their deck.

"I'm sorry," she said as they left the lift.

"Whatever for? You've done nothing wrong."

 "But nothing feels right," she said, looking at the wall -- at her distorted reflection in the black paneling as they strolled toward the door. "The only time I feel better is with you. And I can't cling to you all the time. You have a job to do, and I know we can't be together constantly."

"Have you made any friends here?"

She went through the door first, and led him into the bedroom. "I think so. But it's hard, when I can tell someone isn't comfortable with me. It's different with diplomacy. I know that it will be tense, but the desired end result isn't necessarily the same."

Jean-Luc wondered which person felt more uncomfortable, but set it aside for now. "We should get some sleep. Still technically on leave, and I didn't sleep much. Too worried about you."

"But I was in sickbay." She pulled the dress over her head and dropped it on the floor. It gave him the opportunity to appreciate her nude body, and she knew, and stood smiling back at him. But she was tired, and he got in bed so she would follow his lead. They curled together under the blankets and he felt more at ease immediately, with his chin against the back of her head and his arms around her.

"People die, even in sickbay," he murmured.

Her only answer was sadness -- echoing his own, thinking about friends she had lost and how many times he must have been in sickbay himself. Other thoughts crowded in. She wondered if he had received a response to the message he had sent to Betazed, and if they would have opportunities to see more of Earth before they had to depart orbit. She knew her father, who she could sense even from a high orbit, was doing well and enjoying his time with family he hadn't seen in years.

They set it all aside and fell asleep, until Geordi contacted them to report that the investigators wanted to speak to him.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Enterprise has more in common with my twelve year old car.
> 
> The movie First Contact assumes that Command thinks Picard is emotionally incapable of dealing with the Borg threat when there's plenty of evidence that shows he has been able to approach the Borg, the Cardassians, etc in a rational manner prior to the events in the movie regardless of past overwhelmingly painful experiences with them. Pfft. Silly admirals. Silly screenwriters.

"You don't have to come," Jean-Luc said in the lift.

Deanna nodded. "Do you want me to go back?"

"That isn't what I said." He sighed, thinking about the situation again -- he'd asked the computer for news updates about groups that were opposed to Starfleet, to expansion of the Federation, or to any other group that might have something to gain from bombing the flagship. He hadn't come to any conclusions based on that cursory research. Hopefully the investigators had found something.

"So what are you saying?"

He smiled -- finally, she was asking for clarification. "That if you want to do something else you should. Stay in bed, for example. Go have tea with a friend. It is ship's business, after all, and you're not crew. No obligation for you to be there."

"Okay. If I do go is it violating some rule?"

"Not necessarily. If someone wants to discuss something classified they'll likely ask you to step out."

She seemed to be studying his face. "I think I can help."

"Help? How? Do you know who planted the bomb?"

"No. But I know someone in engineering is lying."

That shocked him. "You know this? You can sense that from across the ship?"

Deanna nodded soberly. Today she was wearing a gray pantsuit. It might be mimicry of the new uniform, or coincidence. She usually preferred bright colors but had said she was experimenting with different styles. She'd put up her hair in a severe bun on the crown of her head.

"Of course you can. You can do more than that, I'd bet, I don't know why I'm surprised after what you did before. But you're not obligated to do anything, even so."

When they reached engineering, Will Riker was there already, standing near the entrance and talking to Geordi. At first glance, from where they stood, there was no obvious damage to be seen. "Good morning, sir," Geordi exclaimed.

"I see we're all enjoying our leave," Jean-Luc said with a roll of the eyes. "What news, Geordi?"

"They're questioning my officers," Geordi said. "Using my office. I went first. They talked to the gamma shift, now they're talking to alpha. Had me recall a bunch of them from leave to do it." He gestured toward the warp core, in front of which there were a handful of engineering staff obviously loitering -- waiting their turn, rather than working, as the engines were still dark and most of the panels in standby mode.

"Who are they talking to now?" Deanna asked.

Will and Geordi were startled by that question, and Will turned to Geordi awaiting the answer. "Lieutenant Gaines. Why?"

"What do you know about him?" Jean-Luc asked them.

Geordi exchanged another look with Will. "He's been aboard for five years. He has a spouse on Earth, I think. He hasn't been very social but he has friends. Third generation Starfleet - his grandfather was an admiral."

While he spoke the door to his office opened, and a tall man in the new uniform came out with the lieutenant. Both of them hesitated at the sight of the captain. "I'm Commander Santos," the tall man said, holding out a hand. "I'm in charge of the investigation here, Captain."

"Any progress?" Jean-Luc asked as he shook the man's hand. "Or dare I hope a few answers?"

"Not yet," Santos said. "Mr. LaForge tells me you have had only two guests other than crew come through engineering. I would like to talk to both of them, if possible."

"Of course." Jean-Luc turned to look at Deanna. "This is Deanna Troi. Her father was the other visitor, but he is off the ship at the moment. I can have the bridge recall him." He stopped before he could do that, however. Deanna was staring openly at Gaines, who had noticed and stared back. "Deanna?"

Her eyes flicked to his face, and from her expression she was displeased. Jean-Luc turned to Gaines. "Lieutenant."

"Sir," came the quick response.

Deanna took a step as if about approach Gaines, but stopped and appraised him again. "Did you put the bomb in the EPS conduit?"

"No," the lieutenant blurted, with more alarm than anger. 

Now she stared with the intensity of the offended princess. Gaines was gaping, and Will and Geordi were at attention and waiting for an order to set things in motion.  

"I just finished questioning Lieutenant Gaines. Why did you ask him that question?" Commander Santos said quietly.

"Because I am an empath. I wanted him to answer me." Deanna stared at the commander now, with less ire. "Do you think he was telling the truth?"

"Please come with me," Santos said to her. She complied -- followed the commander into Geordi's office.

"You are dismissed, Lieutenant," Jean-Luc said, and Gaines was off -- heading out of engineering. Jean-Luc glanced at Will. "Make sure he doesn't leave the ship. Also, have the bridge contact Ian and ask him to return at his earliest convenience."

When Will was gone as well, Geordi turned to him. "She thinks he's the one?"

"She knows he's lying, but the investigation has to be completed before anything is done. We all know regulations."

"I think it's the Maquis," Geordi said. His arms were crossed tightly. "The problem is, a lot of us actually sympathize -- it isn't fair, making people decide between leaving their homes or losing Federation protection."

"On the one hand, I understand their thinking. On the other, becoming terrorists is a poor solution to the problem. How long will it take to repair?"

Geordi heaved a great sigh. "It's going to delay us for sure -- now we're assessing the damage, they're sending in people to inspect the EPS conduits throughout the ship. If that explosion had happened while we were at warp, we'd have had an immediate warp core breach and the ship would have been destroyed. I have to wonder about timing - it makes me think that it went off accidentally. Setting it off while we're in drydock only called attention to it and started an investigation."

"I hope you're also seeing to the sensors, as I'm now wondering if the computer or the sensors have been compromised."

"Data is way ahead of you -- he'll probably contact you before lunch with a full report on the level one diagnostic he started last night."

The door to Geordi's office opened, and Deanna swept out -- she was unhappy, and didn't look at either of them as she strode between them and out of engineering. Jean-Luc raised his eyebrows as he turned to the solemn officer who'd come out after her.

"May I have a word, Captain?"

He left Geordi and followed Santos in, to sit in a couple of chairs, ignoring the desk. Santos sat ramrod stiff with his hands resting on his thighs. "Captain, do you have any insight into the situation?"

"I have very little -- she's insisting that Gaines is lying. She's from Betazed. The Betazoids have telepathic and telekinetic abilities. I don't doubt that she is accurate in her assessment of Gaines. But the investigation should continue, and evidence gathered to satisfy the Judge Advocate General's office. He would not be the only member of my crew with sympathy for the Maquis or one of the other groups who disagree with Federation tactics in the Demilitarized Zone -- and I wonder if Geordi is correct, and the charge was accidentally set off, as it's strange timing."

"The engineering crew from McKinley are examining the damage and searching the ship for other devices -- while it's true that it might have destroyed the ship, we can't assume that was the plan." Santos seemed to relax a little. "How well do you know this Deanna Troi? I understood we have no formal ties with Betazed. Why is she aboard?"

"She's my wife." The more complicated explanation didn't seem necessary, at this point.

It took a little time for Santos to collect his wits, after that. "I see," he finally replied. 

"I can testify to the fact that she is an empath, a telepath, and that she is not completely aware of Starfleet protocol. She's upset, but she'll understand. Her father was a Starfleet officer. He understands, he will answer whatever questions you have. He's been on Betazed for the past fifty years and is currently visiting his sister in England."

"Do you have any suspicions about any member of your crew?"

"Not until after the bomb. I've heard nothing that would make me question anyone's loyalty."

Santos nodded. "I wish I could say this was the first time this sort of thing has happened. There have been several explosions on vessels. Starfleet issued the sensor upgrades last year because of them, also updating the code in the computer to detect devices like that. Likely those efforts were shared with the Maquis and these devices work around those measures. Unless we find another device somewhere else on board we'll have no way to know how long they've been there. This was a practice the Maquis adopted in the event the vessel became involved in conflict with the Maquis, to give them better odds against more powerful ships."

"Assisted by sympathizers in the ranks," Jean-Luc added, thinking about the comments he'd heard over the past few years from various officers. There had been defections over the years. Fitz had been worried that some of the officers who had become Maquis had kept it to themselves and stayed in the ranks, aboard vessels, to pass information and supplies to the rest.

"G'dan to Santos," came the summons interrupting them.

"Santos, here. What is it, Lieutenant?"

"We have found another device. Deck two. In one of the jeffries tubes beneath the bridge."

"I'll be right there. Santos out."

They were on their feet and in motion simultaneously, turning toward the door. "I will speak to you later today, Captain."

Jean-Luc followed him out of the office, watched him jog out of engineering, and glanced at Geordi, who came over to him again. "Another device under the bridge."

"Sure, great place for it," Geordi commented wearily. "I hope they find them all. Captain, I've been talking to the lead engineer assigned to the upgrades -- I think we're not getting away so easy this time."

"What?"

Geordi gestured at the warp core. "The explosion destroyed the EPS assembly, some of the walls and struts around engineering, but according to the diagnostics it also blew the manifolds past their tolerance levels, forced a lot of pressure through the conduits, and we already knew we would be replacing the warp core."

Jean-Luc stared at the core and thought about everything else the vessel had been through, all the battles and near-misses. The many, many repairs and refits. And now the urgency with which the fleet admiral was pushing things along. The  _Enterprise_ had been on a ten year mission and seen a lot of action, as one would expect of the flagship. His vessel reflected the state of its captain -- prematurely aged and feeling worse for wear.

"What a thing to end it all," he murmured.

Geordi's expression was just as grim. "I know," he murmured sympathetically. "But there are newer, more advanced ships coming out of Utopia. I don't see how else they're going to get us back out there as quickly as they were trying to get us done -- completely replacing the engine and all subsidiary systems is a three month job at the minimum, and then there's the shakedown period. It's no overhaul, it's a complete refit. No sense in just throwing another warp core in, structural integrity in ancillary systems around the core is just as bad. I don't think they'll spend the time and resources rebuilding and upgrading her."

"I'm going to contact the fleet admiral. Though I presume that once the report is filed she'll be making contact with me." He turned to go, sighing.

"Sir?"

"Geordi?" Jean-Luc hesitated as the engineer came up alongside him.

"If you do get a choice... you should ask for a Sovereign class," he said softly. "There are dreadnoughts and big war machines, but what we've been through, what we're going to keep doing, something streamlined, nimble, fast, but with a full weapons array, and plenty of power."

"I understand. It may not be a choice I'm allowed to make, however."

"And I hope you decide you need me in engineering."

Jean-Luc smiled at his friend. "It seems to me you have better opportunities than that."

"That's what I'm told, but I have higher standards than that, sir," Geordi said with a grin. "Sometimes the number of pips on your collar aren't the measure that's important."

"We'll talk about it. Keep me apprised, Mr. LaForge."

 When he got to his quarters, Deanna was sitting on the couch, hugging herself, watching him come in. "Why are you so sad?" she asked.

"The damage to the engines is severe -- Geordi suspects they'll retire the _Enterprise_. How are you? You've not been connecting with me this morning."

"No. I'm sorry, I've been preoccupied. Trying to understand." She looked defeated, disconsolate, and he went to sit with her. Nestled under his arm with her cheek on his shoulder, she put her hand on his chest and rested there for a moment. "I asked the computer for information about regulations -- I understand why the commander doesn't trust me."

"There will be evidence of Gaines' ties to the Maquis. It's a matter of time. The Maquis, or some splinter group supporting them."

"Such division and strife," she muttered.

"Not something you have on Betazed. But we value our differences -- we don't always follow through with respectful expression or behavior, but we don't experience growth without it."

"I suppose lacking the ability to perceive beyond what you see and hear requires a certain amount of exploration to test and verify." She paused, and sat up and apart from him. "You react emotionally to that."

"If you were human, it would be considered condescending. It's not as though I have much control over emotional responses."

"You mean humans would believe that to be a statement given as if I were superior."

"A shade different -- it would be taken to mean that you believe you are superior, to some ears."

She was perplexed, and her frown puckered her brow and made her think about it. "If I comment on differences between us, that would be interpreted as my claiming that I am superior?"

"It depends upon who you say it to. How they perceive it. I know, for example, that you don't feel that you are superior."

She smiled fondly at him. "Perceptions are of course influenced by the fact that you each live with only your own experiences?"

"Unless we're lucky enough to meet telepaths, or run into mind-controlling probes. We do have some small capacity for empathy as well."

"I have been meeting with alien species for most of my life. Humans have been the most contradictory and confusing people I've met."

"As anyone who's ever been married to one will tell you," Jean-Luc said. "Would you like some tea?"

She was smiling again by the time he brought her the cup of orange pekoe. "Father contacted me and said he would be back soon. He'll probably get some sleep when he comes aboard and he'll be able to have dinner with us. He said he has something to discuss with us."

"Good. We'll have a lot to talk about, by then. I have to speak to admirals again. This time, it will be about my future in a more direct manner."

The chime startled her -- she stared at the door. "Does this really happen this often, ordinarily?"

"Yes, it does. Come in," he called out, reaching to set down his Earl Grey on the table. He smiled when Beverly came in. "Well, good morning, late as it is. I hope you slept in."

"Not really. The upgrades haven't shown up yet, so I went down to talk to Geordi -- he told me not to worry about it," she said glumly as she headed for one of the chairs. "Are they really going to mothball the _Enterprise_?"

Deanna glanced back and forth between them. "Why are you both so sad about a starship? Isn't it normal, to get a new one if the one you have is no longer functional?"

Jean-Luc exchanged a look with Beverly. "I'm not sure I can explain what it means to us. Our ships are our homes, and we become quite fond of them. The _Enterprise_ is unique. She's been part of the family."

Beverly smiled with him, thinking about it. Deanna was frowning again. "Why would you think of an object as part of the family?"

"I knew this would be difficult," he said.

"Haven't you ever had a favorite toy as a child?" Beverly asked. "Maybe a small pet you loved?"

"We don't have pets on Betazed," Deanna said. "I had a few toys, but I spent more time with people, or animals."

It made sense to Jean-Luc. Betazoids as a species seemed far less interested in the inanimate world than the animate. They'd achieved warp drive, had some scientific knowledge, but now he wondered if they hadn't borrowed from other species for some of it. "Humans have a long history of anthropomorphism."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we imbue the inanimate or the unintelligent with human-like traits," Beverly said. "Little children play as if their dolls are real people, for example. Or pretend their puppy can talk."

The chime went off yet again. "I suspect Geordi has told everyone by now -- come in," Jean-Luc exclaimed.

This time it was Data. And he was holding his cat -- Spot had gained some weight and become less adventurous in his maturity, and would ride placidly in his owner's arms, so Data took him out when off duty, sometimes visiting the children in the ship's school with him. "Good morning, Captain."

"Isn't anyone taking any leave?" Jean-Luc complained.

"I return to feed Spot each morning. Geordi informed me that he feels the engineering team will recommend replacement rather than repair -- he suggested that you might have spoken to Fleet Admiral Nechayev on the matter," Data said.

"What is that animal? Is it a cat? I've read about them," Deanna said.

"Spot is a domesticated cat. Would you like to hold him?" Data came closer as she reached out and passed the tabby to her before Jean-Luc could react to it. Beverly grinned, knowing how he felt about pets.

Spot, rather than turning into the wild thing he had the reputation for being when anyone other than Data handled him, settled into her lap and began to purr, kneading gently on her shirt and gazing up at her face with half-lidded eyes. Data watched in shock.

"He likes you," Beverly observed in surprise.

"He's lovely," Deanna said, smiling down at the happy cat.

"I don't know what's going to happen, Data," Jean-Luc said. "But I will call a staff meeting when I have information. Because apparently that would not be interrupting anyone's leave."

The chime went off again.

"Or we could have a staff meeting now," Beverly said, as he admitted the next guest. This time it was Worf, with Alexander in tow. They seemed to be getting along today; Alexander smiled at Jean-Luc, and waited for his father to speak first.

"Captain, I heard -- "

"Yes, I know, Mr. Worf. I was just telling Mr. Data -- come in, damn it," he blurted, when the computer interrupted again. Tasha and Will marched in, surprised by the rest of the crowd. "What pathetic people we are, working through our vacation."

"Is it true?" Tasha asked, not even responding to his complaint.

"Yes, the ship is that damaged. And given the way Command is pushing for rapid deployment, I would guess we'll be reassigned. I've been given no information yet -- the fleet admiral -- "

"Bridge to captain," came the next interruption.

"Yes, Ensign?" Apparently Wesley had opted to sit on the bridge for the duration of his leave, despite the fact that the ship was connected to the station's power grid and crew were mostly on leave.

"I have Admiral Nechayev on a channel, asking to speak to you."

Everyone stared at him intently, expectantly, and he grimaced. "Put her through, thank you."

"Captain Picard," came the familiar voice. "I have a full report from the engineers on the status of the _Enterprise_ that suggests we should discuss other options. Report to my office."

"Yes, sir. I will be there momentarily."

"Nechayev, out."

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna, who chose that moment to be telepathic -- she wondered if she should come, but he thought she might simply maintain the telepathic connection and stay with the others. "I'll be back shortly. Conversations with her are rarely long. If you'd like to wait here, feel free to keep Deanna company."

"Good luck, Captain," Tasha said.

 He was preoccupied with thinking about multiple strategies in trying to convince the admiral not to send anyone to attempt talking to the Borg. Betazed hadn't responded to his message, and he suspected they wouldn't. So as he arrived on the correct floor at Command, he almost didn't see Fitz in time to avoid running into him.

"Jean-Luc," his friend exclaimed. "She told me you were on the way in. How is Deanna?"

"I left her with the senior staff, waiting to hear what's to come of the ship and the crew. She's fine. I'm sorry we haven't gotten back to you about coming for dinner."

"You can make up for it, we'll talk about it later. Go on in, I'll be waiting for you in my office -- just keep an open mind." Fitz patted his shoulder and turned to hurry back down the corridor toward his office.

Jean-Luc watched him for a few seconds, then went the other way. Nechayev's assistant waved him through, and the admiral was standing in front of the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the bay as he went in, turning when the door closed behind him.

"Captain," she greeted with a restrained smile. "While the final report has yet to be filed, I'm told that the issues with your vessel are more severe than the initial assessment indicated? I wanted to discuss this with you before you considered other opportunities."

Jean-Luc came to a halt a couple of paces from her, and thought that this might be an effort to keep him from retiring, but also an effort to keep Deanna from following him out of her reach. Deanna's presence still registered at the edges of his awareness, enough that he could tell that she agreed.

"I'm told it could take months for the _Enterprise_ to be ready."

"I've discussed it with the engineers at Utopia. I think we may be able to have another vessel ready in three weeks -- the first of the new Sovereign class vessels will be completing the last phase of assembly, and begin the testing phase." Nechayev faced him, her hands clasped in front of her, and he wondered just how desperate she was. "You may have heard of that class?"

"My engineer has good things to say about it. Are you offering me a new vessel, then?"

Her already-faint smile faded away. "I'm going to be candid with you, Jean-Luc. We're receiving reports that the Borg are in the Beta Quadrant. We've actually received a message from the Romulan Empire. We need scouts -- we need more information, more than rumors -- this could be the beginning of the end. If the Borg are coming in force such that the fleet we have is not enough we may only have a matter of months, in which to find a way to evacuate enough people to save the Federation."

The scope of such an undertaking staggered him -- just imagining millions of people across thousands of worlds attempting to flee. And it said volumes about the level of fear in Command, that it was even being considered. "You think that it would be necessary?"

"The Romulans have lost colonies," she said solemnly. "They're fighting, and it's not looking promising."

"This is why you were pressuring me to push for Betazed to join the Federation," he exclaimed.

"Ending the war with Cardassia was the miracle we needed to give us hope. We still have concerns about them, but it seems we have a reprieve on that front. Now we're turning all our attention to the Borg issue, and many are afraid it's too little, too late."

He nodded, wishing his fears hadn't been confirmed this way. "I sent a message to Betazed about the Borg. Deanna suggested that if they knew about them, they might help whether or not there is a treaty." Of course, they might also simply move their world again. But he thought not. They had moved against the Cardassians based on their treatment of other species. There was still a chance that they might help, if they knew the Borg were actually moving into the Alpha Quadrant.

"Have you received a response?"

No scolding, no questioning why he hadn't run it by her first -- this was indeed a day for miracles. He shook his head.

"We need you, Captain. And we need your first officer to step up."

That was another dismaying thing among many -- Starfleet had always granted its officers a great deal of leeway, when it came to postings. They didn't tend to pressure people into promotion, so it wasn't unusual to find old lieutenants retiring that way.  "Deanna said something about being expected to attempt a diplomatic effort with the Borg."

Nechayev's scowl said what she thought of that. "Some of my colleagues are somewhat less clear-headed about things, and insisting that until we attempt it, we don't know that wouldn't work. I know, since I have reviewed your logs and those of your senior staff, that it would be unlikely at best."

"I need to think about this. I know that time is short however -- we have a thousand crew to inform that the ship we've been living on is retiring. Unless there is another Galaxy class available I expect the crew complement will have to shrink, and the nature of the mission demands that families are less welcome?" He crossed his arms and thought for a moment.

"Once the _Enterprise_ has been decommissioned, we will assign the designation to another vessel. There has always been a vessel by that name -- others may see it as a sign of over-sentimentality, or superstition, on my part. But I have already stated the opinion that the flagship of the Federation should continue to be the _Enterprise_ , and it should continue to be under your command, as your exemplary service as well as that of your crew should be recognized."

Jean-Luc had some difficulty keeping his reaction in check, between Deanna's continued puzzlement that even the admiral was being sentimental about this ship, and his own mild surprise at this development.  "Thank you, Admiral."

"I will forward to you the details that we have on the activity of the Borg, and authorize the release of the full specifications of the Sovereign class vessel. And I would appreciate your input into how you feel this should be handled -- if sending a fleet would be best, or whether a more subdued approach might stand a better chance of success." Nechayev smiled at him again, this time sympathetically. "I am sorry -- I know that you had intended to spend time on leave."

"I've never submitted reports about the things that tend to happen on leave, but I'll only say that there are reasons I tend to sit and read a book instead of going anywhere," he commented with a wry smile. "I will contact you shortly with a decision."

He spent the time it took to go down the corridor to Fitz's office thinking about it with Deanna, and it took less time to explain everything to her that way, fortunately. The outer office was empty, but Fitz's door was open. "Fitz?" he said, poking his head in.

"Come on in," his old friend exclaimed, looking up as he turned off the screen. "How'd it go?"

"It begins to sound as though we're all about to be assimilated." Jean-Luc sat down wearily and gazed across at his old friend.

Fitz looked tired. He gestured with a hand. "It's how they're all acting, but some of us are a little more optimistic. Elena has the problem of having to hear everyone's fears, and also to see the reports on how much firepower a single cube has. Wolf 359 proved that sheer brute force is not likely to succeed -- sending out fleets of hundreds of ships if we have to match them forty to one will become difficult fast. If they adapted to what they learned from us -- "

"Yes, I know," Jean-Luc put in more forcefully than necessary. 

Fitz grimaced. "Sorry. I know. I'm sure they asked you all the questions and you told them as much as you could -- there have been concerns about those who were there, as well. Officers who were traumatized. Whether they will be able to face them again with panic has been a topic discussed in several circles."

Jean-Luc stifled the sigh, and kept his demeanor as calm as he could -- Deanna was being a little more intrusive, and he had to spend a moment answering her curiosity and concern regarding his reactions to the discussion with Fitz. "Is this all that you weren't able to tell me? Or are there other dire threats waiting in the curtains?"

Fitz rarely scowled; his typical expression was a friendly smile. So it was a little startling to see him frowning the way he was doing. "I'm not accustomed to seeing you this way."

"You've been in Starfleet longer than I have. You took a promotion when you were about my age. If you had been assimilated and tortured along the way would you have been as cynical? It seems as though the instant I start to think of doing something other than Starfleet, there are compelling reasons to stay in."

"When you put it that way," he replied with a shake of the head. "No, I wasn't tortured. But I knew when I was finished." He did a slow double take. "You want to retire?"

"Do you think that I really want to put myself in the path of another Borg cube?"

"This is why Command has not been putting out much information on the Borg threat," Fitz said, unusually sober.

"So I won't be frustrated with the situation? So you can spring it on me just when I think my life might actually be simpler, less filled with imminent peril?"

"So people won't be terrified," Fitz replied. He was being sympathetic, which did not make it easier.

Jean-Luc glared at him for a few seconds. "Terrified," he grumbled. "I'm supposed to give the fleet admiral an answer on whether or not I want the ship she offers me, to replace the one that we don't have time to fix before we face down the unstoppable foe. Am I supposed to feel some other emotion? Would you prefer giddy, or melancholy?" He stood up again. Deanna was now requesting that he come back, and he didn't blame her for wanting his full attention at this point. She was now afraid.

"The offer of dinner still stands."

"Tomorrow," Jean-Luc said, heading for the door. "Maybe I'll be in a better mood after I've had time to accept the inevitable."


	23. Chapter 23

When he got to his quarters, the living room was full. Geordi was there, and the rest of the senior staff -- Will leaned against the back of the chair Beverly sat in, Tasha sat on the couch between Beverly's chair and Deanna presiding from the middle of the room, Alexander sat next to her petting Spot who appeared to have taken up residence in Deanna's lap. Data had taken the other chair facing Beverly across the coffee table. Worf stood uneasily over in front of the desk, as always giving the impression of being constantly alert. Geordi paced in the middle of the room and turned to smile at Jean-Luc as he entered.

"What did the fleet admiral say?" Will asked urgently.

Jean-Luc wondered if she might have told them already. She shook her head -- she hadn't wanted to say anything to them about it without his being present. "The admiral wants us in a new vessel to be deployed as soon as possible. Some of us. We can't take the entire complement of the _Enterprise_ along. And apparently, Mr. Riker isn't telling us everything?"

Will shrugged. "I told you that I'm where I wanted to be."

"But there are other considerations, Number One. We need a fleet. You need a ship. Or we could continue as we are and wait for the assimilation to begin."

Beverly moaned, and mostly everyone looked down for a moment. Deanna looked at him, meeting his eyes, aware and as serious as he -- thinking about his conversation with the fleet admiral now with the information he couldn't distract himself with at the time. What he knew about how Starfleet worked, and how to interpret the admiral's commentary, sparse as it was. The officers in the room had more of the context than she did. Hinting that having a larger fleet was important told them how serious the situation was without telling them anything specific.

"When do we leave?" Data asked. That brought everyone back from their moment of mourning, to the business at hand. 

"Where do we go?" Geordi asked. 

"The admiral indicated that we will continue to be on the  _Enterprise,_ though the current one will remain so until officially decommissioned -- we will until that point be aboard the USS  _Sovereign_. We will not be taking the civilian complement with us, removing that segment of the population at launch."

That led to everyone looking at Deanna, then back to him with questions in their eyes.

"That's another discussion," he added. "Technically Diplomatic Corps do not fall into Starfleet's rank and file, but they are also not considered civilians. We'll meet first thing in the morning -- you are all encouraged to also think about whether you wish to continue as we have been. I recognize that some have resisted promotion, but this may be the time to step up for the sake of the safety of the Federation. Dismissed."

It resulted in the exodus of the senior staff, now in a low mood. Alexander swung toward Jean-Luc to say "I like her," and grin. But there was little other cause for celebration. Data lingered, watching the others go, and turned as the door closed behind Beverly. 

"The answer is that I don't know, if the question is who will be promoted to first officer," Jean-Luc said, predicting the question. "As it is common for smaller vessels to be given to commanders, you may find yourself elsewhere as well. The admiralty is that concerned that they are pushing Will to promotion, he certainly cannot be the only one."

Data nodded. "I wanted to ask if you will consider Tasha as first officer, if that is the case."

"That's a good thought, Data. Thank you." And, as Data started to go, he added, "Are you forgetting something?"

"Sir?"

"He means Spot," Deanna said, picking up the cat as she rose from the couch and held him out to the android. The cat mewed as Data took him away.

Jean-Luc was finally alone with her, and smiled apologetically as she came around the table, taking her hands when she reached for him. "You had a crowd for a while. I'm sorry that leave isn't happening. Now it's going to be about moving, and the new vessel."

"You're hungry," she said, and that was true -- he had forgotten all about eating. So he let her replicate something Betazoid that he hadn't tried yet, and they sat together  on the couch with the plate between them and nibbled at it while thinking about the situation.

"It wasn't as you thought," he said, considering her fears that she would be expected to attempt friendly contact with the Borg. "We're going on patrol. Likely with other vessels and far from Federation space. The fleet admiral doesn't think diplomacy is likely to work with the Borg."

Deanna picked up a leaf-wrapped morsel from the plate she held. "Are you letting me stay aboard?"

"You should consider staying with your father, on Earth," he said. "But I'm not demanding anything."

She chewed slowly, focused on the plate as if counting the things left on it. "You are fond of your friends, but you were telling them they would be reassigned. My father told me that Starfleet tended to be generous in letting people have assignments they wanted if they were qualified to do the job, usually for as long as they wanted. What you are saying seems to suggest this is no longer the case?"

"The Borg are a serious threat -- it isn't even a threat of war, it's now likely that we will be annihilated. Because Starfleet knows that we aren't technologically up to the fight. We were nearly overwhelmed before with one cube and the _Enterprise_ prevailed with what amounted to a hat trick -- and though we've been pushing to develop better weaponry and build more vessels, it's likely that just a few of their cubes would decimate us. There's simply not enough time."

Deanna put another morsel in her mouth. "Does this imminent danger nullify the agreement we made, that if one of us doesn't approve we won't go?"

He laughed, the airless, joyless kind of laughter that went with the sinking feeling of despair and self mockery that accompanied such hopeless situations. "Where would we go instead? How do we flee, in what direction? How do we know the Borg have not already assimilated the rest of the galaxy, and we would be running right back into the inevitable?"

"You make it sound hopeless."

"The only way to make this hopeless is not to try. Starfleet vessels have done amazing things. There has to be a way to stop it. We have to try."

As he said it, he knew he wasn't feeling the usual sense of conviction he'd had so many times before. The memory of assimilation loomed large, and his dwindling hope wasn't helping him make his case. She set aside the plate, with the remnants of the food on it, and slid closer to him, raising her eyes to his at last. She wasn't doing as others would do, when he made such firm-sounding assertions. Pain glimmered in her eyes. Doubt. What she was sensing from him, obviously, and not what he was accustomed to feeling.

He exhaled, as he realized the complication this could become. And did not like the way she cast down her gaze yet again, with a crestfallen expression, as if she had done something wrong.

"A starship captain carries the mission forward by sheer force of will at times," he said. "As fearful or doubtful as I may have been at times, it does not help to show that -- having a confident captain can help the crew persist and find solutions where it appeared that none existed."

"You're saying that you deceive them," she half-asked, frowning.

He sighed, spent a moment sorting out how to explain it to her, and said, "I am saying that not having the benefit of a collective consciousness with which to process and come to conclusions that all agree on, we have our own way of coming to a unified way of approaching issues. We idealize the democratic process -- we work to find consensus. But sometimes we manage by choosing someone to set the tone, make the decisions, put forth the goal and lead everyone else in achieving it. We all agree to support the general principles of the Federation and the mission statement of Starfleet, for example, even though I have a different leadership style than other captains, and sometimes we disagree on matters -- whether or not an individual thinks peace is possible with the Borg, for example, is not going to prevent admirals from ordering them into battle with them, and any captain will follow through on that order because it's what you agree to do when you take an oath to do so. The consensus is on the principles that guide us and on the ethics of our behavior -- there is some freedom in choice, and we put our faith in the individual's ability to make a good choice, to succeed in the larger goal."

Deanna stared at him and clearly was working through that with likely a list of new questions. 

"Ultimately the real difference between Betazoids and other species is, I believe, in the way we organize ourselves and make decisions. You think I am being dishonest in not telling them I am pessimistic, apprehensive, all the things that they are feeling when confronting the Borg. What I am doing is refusing to amplify that further by articulating those fears. I don't think any one of us is unaware that a starship captain has similar experiences to other officers -- but there is more to it. By daring to make the decision and go forth with determination we can align our crew on the same mission."

She blinked. It took her another few moments to smile. "I see. You have a more delineated and explicit, selective, but collective consciousness -- not a universal one. A little like what happens when I am feeling alone, and rely on you to feel less alone."

"And I was once able to feel confident in the face of grave danger. Sometimes in the face of certain death -- clearly we didn't die, so not as certain as we thought, but. I've always had faith in our ability to prevail. And I was at peace with death in the line of duty."

"You've changed?" She tilted her head, considering this new information.

"I've aged, and been put through a great deal of pain and suffering -- before you came along I was starting to feel more and more unsettled and old."

"But I showed up and now you don't feel old?"

He sighed again, smiling at the woman he suspected would be mistaken for his daughter all too often. "Yes and no. It's been easy to forget about other things, including my age, when you distract me."

She obviously started to think about distracting him and smiled, with sly pleasure in her eyes. "I see."

"At least until I'm sore and exhausted."

"Then you feel old again?" she asked, sliding closer along the couch.

"If you don't have any other questions at the moment you could consider distracting me."

"I think I might be able to do that. What do you think the odds of not being interrupted might be?"

He leaned, reached to touch her face as he kissed her lightly, and then with more intensity. She moved astride his lap, starting to work his uniform off of him, when the computer alerted them someone was at the door. 

"It's my father," she said, slipping off and away -- she went to greet Ian, while Jean-Luc removed the outer jacket and tossed it on the back of the chair, then stood watching them hug each other briefly. Ian came to him and shook hands with him.

"You look tired," Jean-Luc said, noting the weariness in the man's face. He also seemed more tanned, perhaps  "You must have had a good time."

"I'm suffering the effects of the time difference, and I did too much. After taking a long nap I'll be visiting sickbay, for whatever aches left from riding that I might continue to  suffer. But I did want to check in -- is everything all right?" He'd nearly come back with them, when Jean-Luc had been paged about the explosion.

Deanna looked to Jean-Luc so he explained. "It appears there has been more damage to the ship than expected, and so I'm being reassigned to another command, and taking quite a few crew with me. You'll want to think about where you would like to be, in the near future."

"Did you enjoy your visit with your sister and brother?" Deanna asked.

"Yes, very much so. Jonathon said to tell you that he hopes you will come back -- he was looking forward to meeting his niece." Ian paused, and then his smile dwindled. "You didn't get much of a honeymoon, did you? Please tell me they aren't going to send you off tomorrow and not let you have any leave."

"Not tomorrow, no, but all too soon -- I expect the launch will be in two or three weeks. We'll see if we can get at least a few days off," Jean-Luc said.

"I wanted to talk to you about your plans. You mentioned thoughts of retirement?" Ian nodded to Jean-Luc. "I'm being offered a place to live by my siblings -- at the same time, I'm not sure I want to stay so far from my daughter."

"Call me when you're done catching up on sleep, Daddy," Deanna said. "We'll sit down and I want to hear about how things went with the family over tea. But you're so tired, I'm starting to feel tired along with you. We should talk about this when you feel better."

Ian kissed her cheek on the way out, and yawned as he went through the door, leading to Jean-Luc yawning. Deanna stared at him. "Are you tired now, too?"

"There's a reflex humans have -- when we see someone yawning, or think about it," he said, and yawned again.

"I guess I did not get that part of the genome," she said. "Would you like to be distracted from it?"

 The annunciator sounded once more. Jean-Luc chuckled, rubbing his brow, wondering how much of a headache he might have by the end of the day as the word spread and everyone wanted to ask questions of him. "I would like that, but we are obviously going to be distracted from the distraction, until I send everyone a statement informing them of some sort of procedure by which they can apply for a posting on the new vessel, or ask for a recommendation, or whatever else they'll be wanting. Come in!"

Wesley came through the door, smiling, wearing the new uniform as everyone else was. "Sir, I hope I'm not interrupting," he exclaimed, his smile turning apologetic and he glanced at Deanna. 

"I was about to send a message to all hands, about some of the upcoming changes. No doubt your mother has already given you the news?"

"Actually it was Commander Riker, on the bridge just now. I wanted to ask if you would consider me for a position -- "

"Unless Mr. Riker already offered one to you, I had in mind to put you in operations."

Wes grinned. He'd originally been interested in engineering, still was, but anyone with a thought about having their own command would take a tour through several departments on the way. "Thank you, sir."

"I expect you'll acquit yourself as well as you have thus far. You are dismissed, Ensign."

After the young man departed, Jean-Luc went to his desk and sat down to compose his missive to the crew. Deanna said nothing, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair heading into the bedroom. It took him some time to compose a message that covered issues adequately for the crew, and a second one to the civilians aboard. He was just contemplating contacting his brother when Deanna returned.

"Oh," he said softly at the sight of her wearing nothing but the uniform jacket he'd discarded.

"I like your jacket. But I like you more," she said. He watched her come around the end of the desk. She leaned on the edge of it and slid inch by inch along it until she had wedged herself in the minute space between him and the desk, between his knees and forcing him to shove the chair back slightly. 

He looked up at her, smiling, very aware of her -- her breasts were a little above eye level for him, and visible in the gapped front of the open jacket. The dark hair between her thighs beckoned. 

"I already asked the computer for a privacy lockout," she said. "Can I have your full attention now?"

"As you wish." Before she could do anything he placed his hands on her thighs and leaned to kiss the smooth, pale skin below her navel. He could tell when she made the effort to share her mind with him, kissed her again and let his lips glide down -- she was a little startled but let him guide her backward to sit on the desk and kiss the inside of her left thigh while his fingers went in to explore. He found her already wet. She anticipated his fingers but tensed when he went in to apply his tongue. 

She didn't let him get far that way. As usual she was eager and in more of a hurry than he, and came off the desk -- he interrupted whatever she had in mind by guiding her from the desk toward the bedroom. "I have a preference for a location with fewer hard surfaces."

"Do you have other preferences?"

He turned around as he reached the bed, pulled the shirt off, and started to remove the pants. "We could think about that. Couldn't we?"

She took off the jacket, letting it drop off her arms to the floor, and approached slowly. He sat down to remove the boots, stood up again to drop his pants, and she slipped her hands along his hips, around his waist, as she came in to kiss him.

He wondered, and she responded -- he knew she was always in his mind now, and it took a thought of her to bring that fully into his awareness. It was a warm, comforting connection coming to life as she brushed against him and opened her mouth to his. It took little thought now for her to adjust when there was any discomfort, or need, or desire. He let himself be lost in the kiss, and guided her slowly around to the side of the bed, to move together into the bed and under the covers.

He'd been letting her take the lead, deciding to enjoy the process of her exploration of sexuality without interference. This time he took a more assertive approach and let her give him feedback -- ran his hands over her body, moved her onto her back, kissed her again while settling between her legs. Her excitement as he did this surprised him; apparently she'd wanted him to take the lead, and shied away from asking. It was almost enough to make him stop. But he decided not to attempt conversation, as she moved beneath him eagerly and drew his attention to her. Some small part of him still wondered, incredulous, at the good fortune of having her in his bed. Why she had chosen him when she might have had anyone on Betazed, or in the quadrant for that matter -- but she loved him, and there was no mistaking the happiness and the desire as he touched her, and went on to find other ways to continue making her sing out her pleasure. 

He found her unrestrained enjoyment in his attentions a little distracting in itself, and thought it was fortunate that she was caught up to the point that she didn't notice. He fingered her to orgasm twice, and she arched up against him at penetration with happy abandon. It was difficult to lose himself completely until near the end, and she held him after he collapsed with her, both of them breathing hard and feeling satisfied. 

As his awareness dwindled to the hazy, sated half-awake state of post-coital contentment, she did the same apparently; he became less aware of that mental connection. They moved about, and he rolled on his back, to close his eyes and put his arm around her as she sprawled comfortably half across him. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured. 

It brought him up from contentment to almost a full red alert. He shoved himself slightly more upright, bunching the pillow beneath his head in the process, and stopped himself. "Whatever for?"

"I don't know. You were feeling -- Dismay? I might have done something -- "

"Oh, no. I'm simply having difficulty once in a while believing you might have any interest in me. I'm not sure how you missed that, I was sure we were still quite connected."

She was quiet for a moment, laying there with her head on his shoulder. "You could tell how I felt, what I was thinking, and I was so caught up I was only focused on emotions."

"You -- " It struck him suddenly that this might be something he needed to approach differently. After all, the cause of the issue was culturally based. He started to feel rather stupid, in his deliberate avoidance of the topic in hopes of not making her any more anxious about sexuality than she already was. "Maybe you should tell me more about the Betazoid attitude about sex. I have been thinking as most of us in Starfleet do -- many of us see sexual practices as an individual and subjective thing.  I don't have set expectations, you know?"

"I wasn't prepared for how much I lose myself in it. I've never felt the way I do when you touch me. I'm not sure how you want me to -- if there is more, that I could do. I almost ask, but you aren't comfortable discussing it."

"I'm not accustomed to it, no. But I haven't had to. Sexual encounters I've had have all been casual." With the exception of Jeneice, so long ago, and the imaginary wife Eline, of course, and that had faded in memory as well. And then it struck him that she had no context for casual sexual relationships, either. "Starfleet officers don't expect long term liaisons. Many of us will have brief encounters -- humans tend to be interested in sex, even if they have no relationship to give it context. But there's a difference between scratching an itch, satisfying an urge, and sex in a real relationship -- I have my own insecurity about this, and I hope you aren't misinterpreting that as a reaction to what you do. I'm quite content to let you do as you wish and feel our way into this part of the relationship, so to speak."

"I think you're saying that it isn't about what we do, or what I do? That you are also worried about doing something wrong?" She sat up then, the covers over her legs, her hair flying away around her face and spilling down her shoulders. He took the opportunity to sit up as well, pulling over another of the four pillows to add to the one under his head to prop him up. 

"Not wrong, exactly. Just not -- how to explain this.... It's about pleasing your partner, not necessarily doing it by rote or by any rules -- it's about intimacy. I'm worried about misunderstandings, and about -- this. I knew there would be some gaps, between your culture and mine, and yet I really didn't think beyond my own general anxiety about the relationship to initiate a conversation about it. It's those difficult to articulate subjects that I worry about. Is this making any sense?"

Deanna was watching his face, so when he looked at her at last he caught the anxiety and dismay before they were completely gone. "The general attitude toward sexual behavior on Betazed is that it is generally a natural part of the relationship between soulmates. There's no anxiety about it because the partners are of the same mind -- it becomes just another expression of the bond between them. There's no concern about misunderstandings."

"Have I done anything to cause you concern?"

A smile at that. "I think you are the most wonderful man I have ever met."

That caught him off guard, and he held his breath rather than laugh. She of course sensed the melange of emotions and lost the smile at once, which he regretted.

"I have met quite a few men, you know," she chided gently.

That led to an explosive exhalation of the breath he had been holding. "You remember when you came aboard, the conversations we've had. The confidence you had."

Now she was hugging herself in the most disturbing manner. Tossing her hair back, she shrugged. "When I knew that I had a purpose. Before I was thrown away by my own people. Yes."

That wasn't the direction he'd been headed. It left him at a loss.

She turned to look at him and leaned until their shoulders collided gently. "What were you going to say?"

"I -- " Jean-Luc grimaced, trying to find a way to say it without sounding like an ass. "I'm hoping that you can find your footing. Feel at home with me. Be so confident with me, again."

He had been afraid to say it, but afraid not to be as honest as they had always been with each other. Her face fell, and his heart sank.

"I don't expect you to make that adjustment overnight, Deanna," he murmured, gathering her in his arms. "I know it's been difficult, and why. But I do miss your confidence -- I know this will all get better."

He knew, too, that she would work through this phase of being awkward and new about sex. It had to be that -- it was a strange dichotomy, to watch her vacillate between her anxious, youthful eagerness in bed and the rational, intelligent woman he knew she was.

He tried not to think about being sent to face the Borg, and the possibility of not having enough time to see those changes happen.

Eventually they settled down to nap, and she fell asleep curled up against him. Leaving him to contemplate the oddity of being married, despite not ever having a thought of doing so, until he too closed his eyes and began to snore.


	24. Chapter 24

There were many tasks glossed over by the Academy -- tedious stuff, that didn't end up in recruitment materials. Jean-Luc had a view of the inner workings of McKinley Station from the ready room window, so he had no excuse not to be completing the documentation that he was staring at on his screen. The ability to focus, however, was becoming more difficult.

Three days had crawled by. He had divided his time between ship's business, conversations with officers anxious about the transition, issuing letters of recommendation, and stealing away with his wife now and then to some location on Earth. He'd even managed dinner with his brother, for a few hours of the full impact of a non-human in the home of people who never left the planet, not even for a visit to the moon. The awkwardness of the questions his sister-in-law asked had set his teeth on edge. But they weren't trained in diplomacy, and Deanna did her best to set them at ease at every turn -- she had been soft and pleasant, carefully polite, striking up a conversation with René about his school activities with genuine curiosity. The boy, now twelve, was fascinated by her. He told them he'd never spoken to anyone who wasn't from Earth before -- met a few aliens, in the context of field trips and a tour of the Academy.

Jean-Luc had offered them a tour, of the current _Enterprise_ or of the one he was about to transfer to, in two weeks -- she was being brought from Utopia Planitia to McKinley, after the final stage of testing, and then they would have a brief shakedown cruise out to the Cardassian border for a week. Robert was considering it. There were tentative plans for it later in the week, but it depended on too many variables.

If the new ship performed without serious glitches they would be off to the Beta Quadrant -- the admirals had further clarified that Deanna was to be part of the mission, to assist in contact with the Romulans. Fitz had informed him in a casual meal together that there had been a debate about sending a veteran Federation diplomat along with them, but Sarek was mostly retired due to his illness, which had stabilized somewhat but kept him on the verge of retirement, and others of various species had been considered and rejected for various reasons. Ultimately Nechayev had argued that Picard himself had had more dealings with the Romulans than the majority of the Diplomatic Corps.

Jean-Luc stared at the monitor without seeing the text on it. Between the Romulans, the full details of the reports on the movements of the Borg that had finally been released for his review, and the transition to another vessel, the matter of the explosion in engineering and the ongoing tension at home were largely sidelined. The investigation continued -- Geordi had mentioned it when the engineer had showed up to reassert his interest in continuing as his engineer aboard the future 1701-E, and resisted the encouragement to consider promotion.

He thought about Eline, again. Kataan had been in his thoughts from time to time since Nechayev's revelation about the Borg. The Collective was a similar issue to the drought he'd experienced in the simulation of the doomed world, inescapable and causing increasing fear as the inevitable conclusion drew nigh. The people of Ressik had toiled away at life with the determination of those who loved life and clung to it for as long as they were able -- it was starting to feel like a repeat of that experience, each time he sat down with Deanna and attempted to enjoy their time together. And he could see his restlessness and fear in her eyes.

A message alert popped up with a soft 'ping', and he opened it with a flick of a finger across a panel. The investigation had reached a conclusion. Gaines and two other officers, an ensign and lieutenant also in engineering, had been taken into custody -- thorough analysis had revealed that they had been maintaining the EPS system, had been connected and communicating with outside agents, and that the devices had been in place for at least two years. Now the concern was why, if the Maquis had truly disbanded and the officers had fully set aside any external allegiance as they were now alleging, they had not immediately removed the devices. A new investigation was beginning, he suspected, and now the matter was closed so far as the  _Enterprise_ was concerned. 

He couldn't muster the energy to feel anger, that members of his crew could be duplicitous. He deleted the message with a flick and asked the computer for tea. As he returned from the replicator alcove, another ping -- he glanced at the notification as he sat down and immediately opened the message, leaning forward, setting aside the tea quickly.

_Tell Deanna to contact Betazed._

It was the response to the two messages he had sent -- the second he had composed two days prior, explaining in more urgent terms that the Borg were closer than he had feared, taking colonies in the Beta Quadrant. 

"Computer, location of Deanna Troi," he snapped, abandoning the desk, heading for the ready room door.

In the lift, he attempted to fan the murmuring of the connection between them in the back of his mind. She responded with a wordless query and sent an image -- she was in sickbay, and there were others with her. When he arrived, they were all watching the door -- Beverly, Deanna, Tasha, Data and Will stood between two of the biobeds. A tricorder and a regenerator had been set aside on the biobed at Beverly's back -- Tasha and Will were wearing karate gis, and so was Deanna, he realized, as she stepped forward from the group with puzzlement written across her brow. 

"You're excited," she said, a smile starting. "You have good news?"

Will grinned -- he was rolling down the sleeve of the white gi. Probably went too hard trying to best their security officer and hurt his arm again. "Sir?"

"I just got a message from Betazed. They want you to contact them."

Deanna tensed, her eyes going wide as she gaped. "Oh," she exclaimed. She glanced around at everyone else, and leaned an elbow on the nearest biobed. "How unexpected."

"It was a response to my message informing them of the Borg encroaching on this quadrant."

"All right. I think I'd like to sit down first."

"If you'd like somewhere private, you can use my office," Beverly said. "But I'll confess that I really would like to hear what they have to say about the Borg."

"Maybe they'll just deal with them the way they did the Cardassians," Tasha exclaimed eagerly. 

Deanna smiled at her -- it seemed she was doing as he had encouraged her to do, making a real effort to befriend his friends, and this evidence of some success gave him a few moments of happiness in the middle of all this -- and glanced at Jean-Luc, requesting his company as she headed for the doctor's office to the right of sickbay. 

He sat down with her, angling the chair toward her, and she reached for his hand as she sat. "Nervous?" he asked, knowing full well that was the case.

"I was just feeling more comfortable without them in the back of my mind. I'm afraid. I will leave you out of the connection for the moment."

"I understand," he said, feeling the loss almost immediately. He watched her bow her head and focus inwardly with close eyes. Within seconds, she was sitting upright -- he had the impression she might levitate from the chair. Her expression was one of surprise and joy, and tears started to stream down her face.

"Jean-Luc," she murmured. She reached for him with both hands, and he took them without a thought. And then it was as if doing so put him into another reality.

He had the impression of warmth, and he knew it had to be a telepathic connection -- he had experienced such things in the past. But this was quite different. He thought it might be the equivalent of standing in the warp core, on a scale of meeting minds with a Ullian to being assimilated by the Borg. With the Collective being perhaps more like standing in supernova....

The larger collective minds of Betazed responded to that with such a complexity of thought and feeling that he felt quite a bit like a tiny boat on a sea wracked by a typhoon. And with that thought, the sensations diminished to a low ebb, still present but tolerable. He was grateful, and the response then was a question -- would he be willing to help them focus on the Borg?

It was clear now why Deanna continued to struggle endlessly with the nuances of things. Why she had been so insecure, trying to build relationships with his friends, with being a solitary person without this great sea of minds -- he understood it now intimately. And appreciated that it was nothing at all like the Borg. Assimilation was being smothered and pushed aside, eventually out of existence as an individual. Being part of Betazed was like being a single flute in the greatest symphony orchestra in the galaxy -- one could be slightly out of tune, but gently guided back into harmony. 

He agreed, without hesitation, to offering up his memories of assimilation. Reliving it for the entire assembly of minds was difficult but he knew it was necessary -- they wanted to understand before they agreed to intervene, and the fact that they had asked for this information said that they were open to intervening. He thought about the millions of lives already lost, the billions that would be saved. 

And Betazed agreed that something should be done. It was that instantaneous -- viewing the mind of Locutus as he was had been quite enough. That millions of innocents across the galaxy had already been subjected to assimilation and effectively imprisoned in their own bodies was quite enough. 

He knew what the choice was, even as they all considered the execution of the plan to stop the Borg. 

He was suddenly back in his own body, alone with Deanna crying and holding his hands tightly, perched on the edge of the chair in front of him with her knees against his.

He knew he was the conduit they needed to the Collective. His clear and vivid memory of being in the Collective would allow all the minds of Betazed and their colonies, which he had not previously known about -- in fact there was a much larger presence of Betazoids within the Alpha Quadrant -- to hone in on the Collective specifically, isolating them from the larger presence of many sentient beings across multiple quadrants to target and stop their efforts to assimilate and destroy. 

Deanna was already weeping, but without a sound -- she gazed into his eyes and said, "We'll do it together."

Because they were connected again, mind to mind, he knew she understood -- he knew it could be fatal for both of them, as it nearly had been for her. And this was a much larger target -- it was much, much worse than Starfleet Command had thought. Betazed had determined the true nature of the hive mind of the Collective. The Borg Collective was in the Delta Quadrant, and growing. Building transwarp conduits through subspace as they assimilated world after world. There would be more power channeled through them from Betazed than was needed for the warning issued to the Cardassians. 

He thought about his friends, and his brother and nephew, and smiled at her, letting the tears fall. 

"Yes."

"Yes," she said, smiling, drawing him in again.

The wave of power registered to him more like static electricity, flowing through him in pulses. He stayed conscious long enough to feel the Collective again -- feel that emotionless thrum of information and intent from afar. And instead of the death he had feared there was a sudden snapping sensation -- then instead of the Collective there were millions of minds, shocked and then terrified.

You are free, the minds of Betazed informed them all. You are free of the Collective -- return to your homes, if you wish, or make new ones. Be yourself again.

And then he sensed along with Betazed, the responses -- some of them wished to be released completely from the plane of existence they were on. Some of them were in pain -- Betazed soothed the hurts and let them settle slowly into their restored individuality. 

At some point, Jean-Luc Picard became himself again outside the collective minds of Betazed and lost all consciousness of anything more. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the Borg in Voyager had remained consistent with the TNG version of the Borg, Voyager would have been assimilated.

He came awake as he had too many times before -- in sickbay. The lights were dimmed, and he was alone.

He had survived after all -- though he still felt hollowed out, tired beyond exhaustion, his eyes feeling as though someone had rubbed sand in them, his head starting to throb -- he started to laugh, coughed, and wondered why his throat was so dry. And where Deanna was -- he could turn his head enough to see that the other two beds in the room were empty.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly exclaimed as she came to hover over him. She looked tired, too, but relieved. "Just relax, you're going to be fine."

"How long," he managed. She was relieved, that was plain in her face, and nothing about her suggested tragedy -- he assumed from this that Deanna was also alive. 

"Two weeks. Deanna kept telling us you were all right. I think most of us believed she was simply being optimistic, because she had her own issues to recover from and lost her abilities again, but I'm very happy that she was correct. The admirals have been by to check on you, and Deanna's in a room down the corridor. We had to give her one after she was released because she wasn't leaving, it was that or have her sleeping in a chair in here."

The sound of a door as she said it proved her wrong about Deanna's location -- Deanna, in a green dress, arrived -- when she saw him awake the sad look she was wearing vanished, as her eyes went wide and she hurried to the bed. She reached out, but caught herself; her hands went to his shoulders and she touched his face. Beverly quietly checked a panel on the biobed and fled without a word, probably to go alert others.

"Jean-Luc," Deanna murmured, her eyes filling with tears as she leaned in to kiss him.

"Stop that," he whispered. "I'm fine." He sounded like he'd been drinking sand. 

"I'll get you some water," Deanna said, moving out of his line of sight for a minute. She returned and held him up gently to let him sip.

"How are you," he managed, sounding a little more like himself as she set aside the cup. 

"I'm so much better now that you're awake. I've been so worried."

"Where are we?" This was, upon further inspection, not the sickbay he was accustomed to, unless they had actually upgraded the biobeds and repainted. The walls were a different shade of gray.

"Starfleet Medical. Beverly brought us here. She told me they found us unconscious on the floor of her office -- she came in when she thought it was taking too long." Deanna dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "I've been reading some of your books to you, and trying to answer questions -- it's hard to describe what happened. I was attempting to protect you from most of it."

"I suppose I'll have to dictate a few logs before much longer. I may not remember it all for long." It had been like standing in a waterfall of information, having it all pour into his mind. And unlike post-assimilation, he seemed able to access it still -- it was as though some intentional work had been done to enable him to remember it.

Unfortunately, his luck ran to the usual -- the door opened again, and here came the admiral. Deanna had already pulled away and stood by as the fleet admiral approached. He watched in shock -- he had never seen the stern woman who had guided the fleet through a war with the Cardassians smile more than twice, and here she was beaming and appearing for the first time in his memory to be completely overjoyed.

"Thank you," she exclaimed. And gripped his arm, leaning in -- almost as if she wanted to hug him.

He stared at her, bereft for a moment at the sight of her being so familiar. "You're welcome," he said at last.

"Captain," Nechayev said, collecting herself and pulling her hand away. "We owe you and your wife a debt that we can never repay."

He briefly considered feigning unconsciousness, to escape the surreal conversation. "Not at all. I was rather hoping I might get a month or two of leave out of the deal."

Nechayev coughed -- though it might have been an actual laugh, it ended up being more cough-like. "I have never seen you as particularly modest. Are you all right?"

"No. I have a headache, apparently an artifact of whatever state I was in, and I have no idea what's happened while I was unconscious -- I know that the Borg Collective was essentially dismantled, and the majority of the people released to choose their fates. I know that -- " He pushed himself upward, and Deanna adjusted the biobed so he could sit up, more or less. The movement gave him a moment to realize that he in fact did know more than he had thought, initially. "Betazed would like to talk to us again."

"Yes," Nechayev said. "Deanna has informed us of this as well."

Beverly cleared her throat, returning to the ward from wherever she'd been, and approached the admiral with an apologetic smile. "He's just awakened from a coma, Admiral. Surely extended debriefing can wait."

"I think I didn't just awaken," he said. There was a fading memory of something that had felt like before, when they were intervening with the Borg. And there were other things rising into his awareness.

"I'm not back to normal just yet," Deanna said. "But I did send a subspace message to Betazed, telling them we survived, and they did contact me long enough to let me know they would check on you. I think that may have been why you woke."

"I'll leave the two of you to continue to recover, then," the admiral said. "But I wanted to be here to thank you -- there's a lot going on right now in the Federation as a result of your heroism. There are a lot of people who would like to throw you a party."

"You need to find a way to contact _Voyager_ ," he said as Nechayev started for the door. It brought her to a full stop, to stare back at him.

"Are you talking about the Intrepid class vessel that was lost a year and a half ago, in the Badlands?"

"You might hear from them if you monitor all channels," he added.

The admiral stared at him for a moment more, then left them there. Beverly watched the door close behind her. "How do you feel?"

"You might recall my semi-comatose state after the second post-assimilation surgery. This is about like that. I'm quite tired." Having the admiral in led to adrenaline, which was now receding rapidly in her absence.

Deanna brushed his head lightly, her eyes full of pathos. "Can I stay with him?"

"Of course. But I'm going to give him something to help him sleep." Beverly went off to get her medicine of choice.

He smiled at Deanna, and started to think a little more about the near future -- there surely had to be someplace they could enjoy a little leave. "Where do you think you'd like to go, if I can get out of here soon?"

"Anywhere you want to. Somewhere warm and peaceful."

"Here you go," Beverly exclaimed as she returned and smiled down at him. The sound of a hypospray and the cold kiss of the nozzle against his neck sent him off into slumber again.

The next time he awoke, he was in a private room. Still in a biobed, but not one of the models in main sickbay -- something lower, wider, with monitors but only one panel. He felt moderately improved -- the ringing, hollow headache was gone, and he didn't feel as though he was recovering from tranquilizers. Sitting up slowly, he did a brief self appraisal and concluded that he was out of shape, as he had gotten off his schedule shortly after Deanna came aboard and being in bed for a few weeks brought physical fitness to a complete halt; his stomach was empty and starting to complain; and his neck hurt somewhat, from having an inadequate little pillow.

It gave him an opportunity to do a little thinking. There were things that had come up when he'd awakened, and he hadn't been able to consider them with Deanna in front of him and Beverly putting him under again. He decided that the Betazoids had to have put all the information there -- handed it over with precious little context for it, and left too many questions unanswered. But if Deanna were still able to access the collective minds of her homeworld he could hopefully find clarity on some of it. 

He straightened at the sound of the door, and watched Beverly come in. "Well, that explains what's going on with the sensors," she said. 

"Sorry."

"How are you feeling today?" She glanced at the panel and did something, probably correcting the sensors. "Better than yesterday?"

"Was yesterday when I woke up from the coma?"

She frowned, crossing her arms. "You don't remember waking up and walking here to this room?"

"I do not. But that wasn't unusual, before." He'd had similar issues before, during his last long recovery period. Reminding her of his assimilation was not always helpful. This time, she didn't scowl at him. Of course, this time the Borg were gone.

Just thinking about it made him smile. 

Beverly eyed him and leaned a hip against the edge of his bed. "I expect we'll release you tomorrow to convalesce in your quarters. Everything across the board shows you're stable, and well on your way to good health and grand adventures. Will is busy getting your things moved into your quarters on the new ship, by the way, and everyone's asking when they can see you."

At the mention of the ship he sighed heavily, and wondered. "Where is Deanna?"

"Meeting with admirals, of course. She's been fending off people determined to talk to you." She seemed to be scrutinizing him; her eyes narrowed slightly. 

"What?" he asked wearily, as he manipulated the arrows that raised the head of the bed so he could have something to sit against -- sitting up unsupported was starting to feel like too much. A sign that foretold more time convalescing with occasional leisurely walks instead of working on meeting the physical fitness requirements for active duty, unfortunately.

"How are the two of you? Is everything all right between you?"

He glared at her with as much ire as he could muster. 

"Jean-Luc. You married a woman you hadn't known for more than a couple of weeks. From a culture that's wildly different than your own, who's apparently able to dismantle the Borg and threaten the Cardassians into submission. I think I would be surprised if things weren't a little sideways."

"If we could stop having sudden crises that end leave or disrupt meals, it might be helpful," he said. "I wish that I could be less old and broken in some respects. I might be able to keep up with her."

Out of all his friends, Beverly was the one he expected to understand -- partially because she was a doctor, and mostly because she had been married. He'd debated approaching her as a patient and let himself avoid that, as there were so many distractions, chief among them Deanna's own insecurities and difficulties adjusting to the changes in her life. But it was looking as though their course had started to correct, and this might be good timing to address what he saw as a potential issue.

"Are you talking about sex?" There was an amused edge to the question that he found irritating. 

"No, she runs faster than I do," he said, completely deadpan.

Beverly put on her professional face, though her eyes were merry and the smile fought against her restraint. "All right. There are a few options for... leveling the playing field. I can prescribe something to administer along with the other shot." The amusement faded, no doubt as her thoughts turned through what she remembered of his medical record. "Are you feeling old and broken in other ways?"

"Does sleeping for a day at a time count?"

"You're recovering very well. Though I've noticed that you only wake up when Deanna has been gone for a while. She's stayed with you most of the time -- perhaps you haven't been aware of that. I haven't seen anything in the scans that indicates physical disability or might cause pain. Your brain reads as quite healthy considering you had a bunch of telepaths focused on you at once. Hence the question, when you grumble as you have. Are you feeling any other symptoms that I can address?"

He took a brief inventory, again. Thought about the weeks leading up to the present. "Not really. Don't you ever just feel older?"

Beverly put a hand on his sleeve. "Sometimes, especially if I pay attention to Wesley and think about holding him when he was a baby."

"I get there just watching the latest batch of ensigns stammer through being introduced to me," he said, letting his head fall back on the flat pillow. 

"You're feeling old because young officers look up to you?" She smiled sympathetically. "Are you still thinking of moving on? Coming back to ground, perhaps?"

"I don't know, Beverly. I honestly don't know what to do. I went to see my brother and introduce her to my family. They have no idea how to relate to her."

Beverly pursed her lips and gazed at him with an amused glint in her eye.

"What?"

"That's hardly an unusual problem, Jean-Luc. Did Jack ever tell you about the time we went to see his parents, when I was pregnant?"

"No." In fact, he didn't remember Jack talking about his parents much at all.

"It was a miserable time. A Starfleet doctor trying to have a conversation with a couple of teachers in Chicago -- we all got bored with the surface chatter quite quickly. And then it was obvious that for us, Starfleet is all we focus on, and for them, family and friends and then their jobs were the focus, and there's not a lot of similarities between the two. Jack's sister lived near them and had two little boys. They monopolized the dinner. His father's personality wasn't anything like his, not easygoing at all, his mother disapproved of my choice to be active duty and not take extended leave with the baby -- it was a tense few hours." She shook her head. "I don't remember you talking about your family at all, other than commenting that you didn't get along with them when asked."

"I suppose that if I were to transition to Earth, I would have to adapt. And things would improve, if we made the effort. Or, we would be able to set up housekeeping in San Francisco and continue to not worry about that at all. But she's not like me -- she wants community. That's my real concern."

Beverly started to laugh, forestalling the rest of his explanation. "I think you're worried because you need a mission, and you're not on one. Maybe the real challenge will be you not having a cause to focus all that energy into?"

He sighed, letting it go -- all that he had learned from the experience with Betazed still crowded in his thoughts, all the shared experiences that had flitted through his mind, told him that she didn't understand the nature of the issue. "Are you still prohibiting visitors? I'd like to talk to Fitz."

"I'll go call him. I wasn't sure you were interested in having guests -- I know you tend to isolate when you're convalescing. And you're pretty boring when you are asleep."

"I need to talk to Will, also," he added.

She frowned. "Are you trying to work? Because I'm going to instruct him not to let you do that."

"I simply want to know what's going on. If he's taking a ship of his own." How the transition was going, and how everyone else on the senior staff was doing, were also concerns. He didn't want to delay knowing more about how the dismantling of the Collective had impacted Starfleet operations, either.

"I'll let them know you'd like them to stop in. Are you hungry?"

"I am indeed."

Deanna came in, then, and smiled warmly at Beverly -- it appeared she was making good progress in befriending the doctor. "How is he?"

"Feeling good enough to chafe about not having work to do," Beverly said. "I'll go send someone with lunch for you. Then I have to go see about my sickbay on the new ship, so if you need anything just page Dr. Keller."

"Thank you," Deanna said, watching Beverly leave.

 Jean-Luc spent a moment admiring Deanna, who seemed different -- she was wearing another pantsuit today rather than a dress. This one was a print, teal with a black pattern of geometric shapes. She'd braided her hair, and it looked shorter. He was about to comment when she nodded.

"I had it trimmed. What do you think?"

"It looks good. You look good. Happier now."

She sighed, and leaned down to kiss him lingeringly on the lips. "You're awake, and the Borg are gone. I understand more than I did before. Of course I'm happy." She settled on the edge of the bed, balancing on her thigh and buttock and facing him, resting her hand on his stomach. A familiar gesture that he'd never experienced before.

"I suspect that we'll be back on the leisurely schedule for deployment now that the crisis is done. I think I would like to find a place in a remote corner of the world to relax for a while. What do you think?"

"Daddy and I have been talking to the rest of the family about what he wants to do," she said. "If we're able to be here for a month or so he'll have more time to settle in, and I'll feel better about leaving him here."

"Are you planning to stay on the  _Enterprise_ with me, then?"

She scowled at him. "Why would I not want to?"

"It's still a dangerous place, you know, out in uncharted space. And as we've discussed before, I have been thinking about other options. If you had a strong preference it would be helpful to me if I knew about that."

Her fingers wrapped around his when he took her hand, and she thought about it, smiling as she finally spoke again. "I have a strong preference to be with you. I am more comfortable on the ship, but I will be able to adjust to Earth if you would rather be here. And it helps that I know why I was cut off from Betazed -- it was their assumption that I would be fine without contact with them that led to the decision."

"What happened, after I lost consciousness? What's been happening while I've been in sickbay?" He peered into her eyes, as if hoping there were answers in them. "Are you really doing as well as you seem to be?"

She looked down, shrugged a little, and smiled. "It's taking longer to get my abilities back. Dr. Linal scolded me, but I would not have had it any other way -- I wasn't going to let the Borg continue any more than you were, given the opportunity to stop them. It's been difficult since it happened because I become so anxious when I'm not able to sense you, I'm afraid I was quite demanding when they suggested that I return to the ship or go with my father. I was having difficulty sleeping, until you awakened. And I still can't sense anything. I'm still worried about you... did she say you could leave soon?"

The computer chimed politely, and Deanna turned her head as the door opened -- Fitz came in with a broad smile. "I hear you want to talk to me? How are you, Jean-Luc," he exclaimed, coming toward them. 

"Feeling better than I was yesterday. It's good to see you, and everyone else, so happy. Are there reports coming in?"

"Oh, yes. Nechayev mentioned your suggestion -- we've sent vessels and subspace messages far and wide, contacted the Romulans, and the reports are promising. I haven't heard anything about  _Voyager_. It was generally presumed she was destroyed, so many of us are curious as to why you think she hasn't been."

"Because while the -- " Jean-Luc paused, considering how to go about describing it -- and then it came clear, as to why Deanna had been at a loss so many times for words. But he had to try. "The Borg assimilated them. There was an opportunity while we were connected mind to millions of minds, I had a thought about all the Federation officers that must be in the Collective, and it was as though Betazed responded and amplified and honed in on them after the Collective was dismantled -- I recognized Janeway. Of course her first thought was of her ship and crew. And they were there as well, I think. It was an impression I had, that they were all in the same distant location, and they will be attempting to contact the Federation and come home."

Fitz let that settle in for a moment. "Well. That sounds hopeful," he said, in an attempt to be supportive. But it was obvious he didn't quite believe it.

The door chime interrupted, and when the ensign came in with a tray of food, Fitz excused himself and left them to eat, promising they would be in touch, as they still had yet to come over for dinner. Deanna pulled a chair over from the corner to sit in and they ate quietly.

At length Jean-Luc handed her his plate, and watched her put aside the tray on a counter at the other side of the room. She returned to stand at his side waiting expectantly.

"He didn't believe me."

"I did not need empathy to notice that," she replied. "Betazoids who deal with other species that lack telepathy learn that it does not help in building relationships with them to share everything that they are unable to perceive for themselves. Your friends on the ship you mentioned will have to come back on their own."

"I can't just do nothing with information like that if there is a way to help," he exclaimed. "I know what it's like to be suddenly pulled out of the Collective."

"Jean-Luc," she chided, sadness in her eyes.

He sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted all over again. "I suppose not."

"You can't rescue everyone. But I appreciate that you want to," she said, now smiling fondly. "You should rest. I can see you're tired."

"You aren't?"

She returned to the chair. "I've already been scolded for getting on the bed with you and confusing the sensors. Go to sleep."

Another sigh, and he settled for lying on his side watching her until he fell asleep.


	26. Chapter 26

Jean-Luc awakened and shook himself. He'd fallen asleep sitting up again, and took stock quickly -- he was alone.

"Damn," he muttered, looking around. The captain's quarters aboard a Sovereign class vessel were slightly smaller than the ones he'd had aboard a Galaxy class. Some of the things Deanna had been putting out were on the end tables, the shelves, and one of the paintings from his old quarters was on the wall over the sofa behind him.

He wished he could stop falling asleep. He'd been doing better over the past two days, getting back to normal, but still had a tendency to drop off -- Beverly said this was part of the traumatic brain injury he had. When it stopped happening he might be cleared for duty, if all went well.

He made his way into the bedroom to look for Deanna. The recovery this time was progressing at a more satisfying pace than after assimilation -- he had a feeling his life would be taking some interesting turns soon. He'd already started to get the deluge of requests for interviews, offers of jobs, and the fleet admiral had arranged a meeting with him that afternoon. He didn't think she would be promoting him, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. With the biggest threat to the Federation gone, priorities had shifted again.

He returned to the living area after finding only the latest piles of clothing Deanna had been sorting strewn across the foot of the bed. She'd been shouldering the chores of making their quarters livable. "Computer, tea, Earl Grey, hot. Where is Deanna Troi?"

"Deanna Troi is in sickbay," the computer announced. At least it was the same voice as they had on the old _Enterprise_ \-- Geordi had likely already set it that way so they were more at home.

He worried briefly, but decided that she would have contacted him if it were anything more than a routine exam -- she too had been checked a couple times a day, and had started to get her empathy back at last. Beverly and Dr. Linal had been firm in asserting that she shouldn't resort to such extreme measures again. Dealing with the Collective had done more damage, and she would likely lose all telepathic and empathic ability if she even survived a third such occurrence at all.

It would be easier now that the Borg were gone. He and the crew could get back to the business of Starfleet. Picking up his tea from the replicator and his book from the end table, he settled in the chair, thinking that it would be more comfortable in the event that he dropped off again. He read in silence for a bit, and was starting to doze off again when a flash to his left startled him upright.

"Why, hel-looo, Jean-Luc," Q exclaimed, in his condescendingly playful way, clasping his hands to his chest in glee. Once again, he'd adopted the uniform -- the black and gray of the new one, complete with admiral's bars. 

Rather than huff and puff at the entity, Jean-Luc sighed and stared at Q, waiting for the presentation. 

Q pouted. "Oh, are you upset with me? Have I been neglecting my favorite playmate?"

"I wish that you would." Jean-Luc went back to his book. 

"Now, now. my dear -- "

"No."

Silence. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him -- rather than continue to pretend to read Jean-Luc looked, and found Q watching him with a slight smile. They stared at each other, then Jean-Luc closed his book, relaxed in the chair, and closed his eyes.

"I simply wanted to congratulate you on being free of the Borg at last," Q exclaimed with some of his usual fervor. "All it took was selling your soul to the Cyndrani. Or is it the Betazoids? Or one of the other names people use for them. There's actually a species that named them the n'Dic'til'*click*. They have to date at least two dozen different names. What kind of species is it that doesn't bother to name themselves? Even we Q adopt a nom de plume to make it easier for the little people to talk to us."

Jean-Luc opened his eyes again, to stare at Q with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

"You surely recognize after all this time in space that not everything or everyone is what it appears to be, however beautiful or pleasant or -- "

"Why are you here?" Jean-Luc snapped. 

Q drew himself up with exaggerated shaking of the head, as if shocked. "My dear captain, you wound me. I just told you -- "

"Yes, and I thank you for the information, but you've given me no reason to take you seriously, so it's beyond me why you are here."

"Oh, all right," Q agreed complacently. He nodded, as if humoring him. With an exaggerated shrug, Q held up his hand to snap his fingers.

"Wait."

It pained him, to see how delighted Q was, in his mocking way -- he posed open-mouthed for a second. "What? You want me to stay? Oh, joy!"

"What do you mean, they aren't who they appear to be?" Jean-Luc had the sinking feeling that he might be falling into another one of Q's "adventures" but there were two things that kept him from dismissing Q altogether. One, despite all the idiocy and mockery in the presentation, Q had yet to harm them or truly deceive them. Two, it had occurred to him that it would be easy to be deceived by telepaths so powerful as the Betazoids. And the only known being who stood a chance of being immune to the Betazoids that they knew was Q. And Guinan had expressed concern initially -- she wasn't given to speaking up unless she thought something was really afoot. Had that been one of her hunches, or just general concern for him?

He trusted Deanna. He had experienced the full force of the Betazoid collective consciousness and remembered much of it. But the initial euphoria was diminished, and though there had been no malice, no anger, or any negative impulse anywhere, there was nothing about it that proved they were not capable of a different sort of manipulation. And here was Q suggesting it -- but was it one of his infernal tests, to see if they could determine the truth from fiction in this case?

Q strutted a little, eyeing him as if he were keeping a delicious secret. "You do care! I'm so happy!"

"I care whether or not a world that might become a Federation member is not what it appears to be, yes. I take information when it's offered. For all we know, you may be Betazoid, or they may be Q," he added with a smirk. 

Q drew himself up again and huffed, crossing his arms. "Any comparison between my omnipotent self and those little people with their minds too big for their bodies is in a word ludicrous. Honestly, do you not have eyes? I thought you were more observant, Jean-Luc."

"Why are you warning me?"

The door opened behind him, and he watched Q carefully -- it had to be Deanna. He heard her shoes on the carpet, as she came in, and then she was at his side looking down at him. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm fine. I was reading and Q suddenly appeared," he said, gesturing toward the entity. 

Deanna moved in front of him, around the coffee table, and sat on the couch. "Q?"

Jean-Luc stared at where Q had been standing. There hadn't been the usual flash of light, snap of the fingers, or flourish of the arm -- he'd simply vanished, while Deanna was standing between them blocking his view. Or before -- but Q had been there. Deanna had come in, Q was there, and Deanna came to him -- why hadn't she detected him or seen him?

"Jean-Luc? You're sure you are all right?"

"No," he said, heaving a great sigh. "I'm not sure of that at all any more."

 

* * *

 

 

"So you were sitting here and he appeared and talked to you, then Deanna came home and he wasn't there?" Will asked.

Jean-Luc had called in Will, Data, and Beverly, to talk it through with them. Will had stubbornly stuck to his original position as first officer, and in the absence of the Borg threat the admirals were letting him stay on, though Fitz had shaken his head. Will had immediately believed that Q had appeared, and at Jean-Luc's uncertainty asked Beverly to examine him. She'd found nothing amiss; there was still some healing to be done, but she proclaimed him clear of any of the kinds of brain damage that might lead to hallucination. So their conclusion was that Q had simply managed to be undetectable to Deanna.

Deanna hovered, sitting on the couch at his right, watching him anxiously while they talked. Beverly sat slightly apart from her on the couch, watching both of them, and Data simply stood at ease next to the other chair, in which Will sat.

"I can't deny that Q has never brought us to harm. We obviously can't completely trust anything he tells us, on the other hand. He continues to be bent on testing us. But the last time he showed up he did manage to help me, in his infuriating and facile way. And I can't deny that I have questioned the motives of Betazed -- I'm not sure that I entirely trust that they really believed that you would not be hurt by being cut off from them," he said to Deanna, who was starting to look at him angrily.

"They were telling me the truth," she exclaimed.

"You believe they were, and you trust your own sense of that -- do you believe that they can't deliberately lead you to believe something, to project what they know you require to believe what they tell you? Because it seems to me that entities with the kind of power it takes to move planets and inflict pain on others, and to sever the Borg Collective while leaving the individuals within it alive and intact, could easily also project whatever it would take to make you think what they would like. Consider the difference between having no contact with them and having that link present in your mind -- how it felt for you, the impact that it had. How much of what you believe is your opinion, separate from that of Betazed?"

She kept frowning, but she seemed to be wavering. "I don't know," she said at last. 

"I question the motives of both Q and the Betazoids," Data said. "But Betazed has gone to great effort to stop the Cardassians and deactivate the Collective. The Federation has seen the return of citizens who were held captive by both -- and no doubt many other worlds in several quadrants owe them thanks, as their citizens have also been released. Starfleet is receiving transmissions from people who are setting course for home, and Guinan has already heard from several of her people."

That was a distracting bit of news -- he hadn't been to see Guinan yet, and it was good to hear there were El-Aurian survivors. But Jean-Luc stayed on point. "If it costs them so much to intervene that way, why do it? We've been attributing it to altruism. Is that all it is?"

He looked to Deanna, and hoped she wouldn't take offense. She was thoughtful but no longer upset. "There are billions of Betazoids scattered across the quadrant. Of course it is also self-preservation. I don't understand why, if this Q creature is so untrustworthy, you are questioning Betazed's motives."

"Q is difficult to explain," Beverly said. "I think he's up to something, and we should trust the Betazoids."

"You could always just keep Deanna at your side, if Q is afraid of her," Will suggested with a lopsided grin.

Jean-Luc half expected the entity to appear again, to bluster in response to the allegation that he was afraid of something. But nothing happened. Jean-Luc leaned forward, elbows to knees, resting his forehead in his palms wearily.

He felt a hand on his right shoulder -- it had to be Deanna, expressing concern. He sat up again, and she sat back, her hand falling away.

"I think Will has a good idea, actually," Beverly said. "I think she should be with you and if you show any symptoms at all, or Q comes back, you can contact the rest of us."

"Agreed," Data said.

"I'll have Tasha put security on the alert," Will said.

Another sigh, and Jean-Luc tried to smile. "Thank you, all. Keep me updated -- I'll do the same."

Will put a hand on his shoulder as he left, Beverly followed him out without a word, and Data nodded as he went with them. Jean-Luc sat back in the chair, suddenly feeling exhausted -- another symptom of the brain injury.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I don't want it to sound as though I don't trust you."

"It's similar to what my father has said at times. He questions, just as you do, because you don't understand. I've spent my entire life connected to the rest of Betazed, so it's hard for me to think of them as anything but honest, but this too is not unusual -- non-telepaths have difficulty trusting what they do not understand." She stood up, reaching for his arm. "You're tired. Please go to bed."

He stood as well, taking her hand. "Only if you come with me."

"You want me to stand watch while you sleep? It sounds like one of the old westerns Daddy used to read to me."

"If you are in fact keeping Q away, it would be accurate enough."

It was also nice, he decided, to have her there next to him. He fell asleep with his arm across her abdomen, his head on her shoulder, and her hand resting on his hair.


	27. Chapter 27

_He stood on the bridge watching the cube approach on the main viewscreen. To either side of it were two other cubes. It was obvious that they were about to be boarded. The typical monotone of the Borg version of a greeting informed them that resistance was futile._

_As he ordered the self destruct and a collision course, a transporter beam shimmered at his left -- Yar leaped into action, he dodged away from it, but it was too late. The drone raised his arm to grab his wrist, tubules extruded from the wrist of the drone, and within seconds he felt the burning sensation in his veins._

Jean-Luc woke even as he sat up out of bed abruptly, throwing the covers half off himself. He panted and took stock -- he was in the new bedroom aboard the new ship, and Deanna was there as well, standing next to the bed, wearing a jade green dress instead of the lavender she'd had on earlier.

"Jean-Luc?" She watched him, frowning. "Should I get the doctor?"

"Sorry," he said breathlessly. "Bad dream."

Her level of anxiety immediately and visibly diminished. "The admiral is here," she said, gesturing toward the door. "I'll go wait with her while you get dressed, to let her know you are coming."

"Thank you. I'll be out in a moment."

It took him a moment to clear his head and calm down. He spent a few minutes in the bathroom and traded the pajama bottoms for pants and a long-sleeved shirt. He went out to find the admiral still a less tense, more cheerful version of the one he'd dealt with for the past four years. She watched him come to attention with her pleasant yet subdued smile firmly in place.

"At ease, if you would," she exclaimed, gesturing at the couch. 

He stepped in to sit next to Deanna, and adopted his own diplomatic smile. "Thank you for offering to come to us."

"I know the doctor probably prefers that you not wander far from sickbay, and I also understand not wanting to be overwhelmed by people wanting to talk to you about the Borg, or what happened to remove that threat." Nechayev shook her head ruefully. "We've had to tighten security to stay sane, ourselves. You may not have heard about the impact this is having on the Federation."

"I am told by my first officer that we're fending off attempts to contact me constantly. What were you wanting to discuss with us?"

Nechayev seemed regretful. "I understand that you are on medical leave, and Dr. Crusher is resisting a prediction of when you might be ready for duty. But I felt that this conversation should happen sooner than that. Prior to nearly deploying you to look for the Borg, we were discussing a series of diplomatic missions. Foremost among them was what should be done about the Cardassians, and now we are revisiting the subject. They have now contacted us. An envoy is being dispatched to come to the Federation, to request a formal alliance with the Federation."

Jean-Luc turned to Deanna at once. She was worried, looking down at nothing and thinking about that. "Not surprising, that they would do so. They hope to find an ally in the Federation, perhaps to lash out at Betazed -- it isn't unusual for a species who have been warned by Betazed to attempt to do so."

"That would be the other matter," Nechayev said. "You were rejected by them, but they reversed that position? Something that was said while discussing it with you and Dr. Crusher suggested that has changed?"

"I have been thinking about that. Because it has been pointed out to me that they may be influencing my thinking somehow. I remember feeling as though I had been rejected, yet when I re-established contact with them, I questioned that and was reassured that they had believed I had permanently lost my abilities and wouldn't want to come back."

"But that wasn't true," Jean-Luc exclaimed. "While we were at Betazed, you told me that they did not know whether you could recover, and you were very upset by being told you couldn't return. You didn't completely understand why. Now they are telling you something else?"

Deanna was scowling now, and shaking her head. She raised her eyes to meet his. It was the first time in a while that she'd attempted telepathic contact with him, due to the recovery period they were both in -- it seemed to him that it was a more tenuous contact than before -- and he accepted it, and when she requested the memory of what she had told him before he provided it directly. 

And then she was looking away again, upset. She caught herself and turned back to the admiral. "I'm sorry, this is upsetting. I don't like that my memories have been altered."

"Altered?" Nechayev didn't like the sound of that.

Jean-Luc sighed. "I think this is an example of what I expressed concern about before, that Betazed may be subtly influencing the minds of people they come into contact with, to the point that those involved don't notice it. Think about this from the perspective you have now -- how you felt when I arrived, how that changed since, how you feel now. I believe it's possible that the collective minds of Betazed do this without recognizing the problem. Think about the power when they are all connected, and what it must take to control that -- think about how a thought rippling through that communion might be amplified until the point that it actually overlaps and even replaces thoughts of similar nature, on the same subject perhaps, in the mind of an individual. It's soothing to be in the link. But it reduces discord, for the collective."

"I suppose you may have some insight, having actually been a part of it," Nechayev said, making it clear she had listened to his logs.

"It isn't something that happens with the brute force of the Borg Collective," Jean-Luc said, watching his wife's face. She still frowned, but she was listening. "It isn't likely that it's something they intend to happen. I think it's just a byproduct of the general Betazoid tendency to prefer harmony and peace. Projecting it isn't a choice. But I think it bothers people -- it stirs up something, in the various individuals who attempted to woo them into the Federation. It bothered the Vulcan captain, because they prefer privacy, and there was a pressure that did not register to him as telepathy but was there nonetheless, resulting in an automatic level of frustration. It bothers humans but in ways that vary, as we all vary from each other quite a lot, but sets them on edge and leads to unconscious assumptions. Guinan was bothered enough to speak up at first but wasn't quite concerned enough to do more than question whether I really knew enough about Betazoids. I think it happened to me but my impulse is always to question and look for verification of my theories. That I've struggled to put a finger on it tells me just how subtle it was. And then it wasn't subtle, it was overwhelming, and now I'm having dreams of the Collective all over again."

"Then perhaps what is needed is not what you initially suggested," Nechayev said. She smiled with some small amusement, an unusual thing for her to do. "Perhaps we need, instead of ill-informed Vulcans, some fully-informed Vulcans with excellent shielding and control. To see things as they are, when discussing with Betazed the nature of Federation membership, and who might be willing to a mind meld with the Betazoids, in the cause of further developing a relationship with them."

Jean-Luc nodded, still watching Deanna. She smiled at last. "That might work. If you still want them as members. It might result in the Cardassians retreating from negotiations."

Nechayev laughed -- it was a startling sound, a moment of joy from the woman who Jean-Luc had only seen under the pressure of her office. She beamed at Deanna, and rose from the chair. "I'm going now, to find some amenable Vulcans from the embassy, and select a starship to bear them forth to Betazed. Even if the ship is turned away, just being able to tell the Cardassians about that effort will communicate far more effectively our stance on that matter. As for the rest of what I came to discuss -- I am to offer you a promotion, Jean-Luc. You likely could have your choice, but I would hope you might consider diplomacy, as that has been and continues to be where we need our best people."

He stared up at her, and got to his feet as an afterthought. "I'll consider it," he said after a moment of being unable to refuse it outright.

"I'm happy to hear it." Nechayev glanced at Deanna. "I think you would make an excellent team." She turned and strode from the room.

Jean-Luc sat down again, a little closer to Deanna, and waited for her to speak. She was pensive, and then turned to look at him.

"You are an amazing man," she said, with an uncomfortable amount of admiration.

"I am a fortunate man, and a hungry one," he said, hoping to deflect and move on. "We should talk about what we want to do. What I should do about this promotion."

"Do you want to give up the _Enterprise_?"

Jean-Luc felt tired again, which he hated to admit -- thinking about career did it to him every time. "Wanting to is not the issue. What I don't want is to lose my edge, and have others pay the price. I want to feel younger than I do, more my age, not be tired thinking about the next challenge. Even the magic of modern medicine isn't helping me with that."

Deanna considered it with her usual seriousness. That in itself was a relief. Rather than having a friend try to laugh and chide, or be dismissive or encouraging, she gave what he was saying the serious consideration she offered to everyone. "Are you also thinking about what would happen if you remain in the current posting, and I am sent on an assignment elsewhere? It sounds like the admiral would like to see us working together."

"Of course. And I appreciate the admiral's consideration, especially as I've not historically been her favorite person."

The furrow reappeared between her eyes. "She implied you were one of her best -- has that not always been true?"

"We can disagree on policy, procedure, or ethical considerations and still respect one another. That has always been the case."

Deanna sighed audibly and went quiet for a few moments. "I am going to learn to think more independently of my people," she said at last. "I'm going to discuss that with them, and help them see why I want to do that. I think that as a result of that conversation, they will likely then join the Federation at last. I think that would be good for them."

"I agree," he said with a grin.

It was one of those moments that had sustained his career despite the past year or so of restless, dissatisfied contemplation of retirement -- a success, coming after much frustration and questioning to find the heart of the problem. And it simultaneously gave him more confidence in their relationship. Of course she knew how happy he was now, and mirrored it in her smile. And then she was smiling at him now with the appreciation and affection that engendered another response in him -- he met her halfway, for an enthusiastic kiss that led to another more languid and exploratory one. She finally seemed to be slowing down to enjoy the moment rather than rushing. And she must have still been connected, as she conveyed understanding of it and agreed that they had plenty of time.

And of course, the usual interruption happened. He felt Deanna flinch, pulled away from her, followed her gaze, and they both froze in place, staring up at Q standing over them. The entity had the same uniform on. To his surprise the entity said nothing -- he simply had a furious expression.

Jean-Luc sat back, watching Deanna now. She was flabbergasted, staring up at Q with an open mouth.

Q disappeared in a flash of bright light.

"Deanna?"

She eyed him warily. "Do you know him?"

"So you saw him this time," Jean-Luc said, relieved that it wasn't a figment of his imagination after all.

"That was the entity you call Q?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

She was frowning again. "Betazed knows him. I personally have never met him. I need to ask for more information to tell you more."

"Oh, I'm sure I can answer a few questions," he said wearily. "And I somehow think this was not the last we'll see of him. He was trying to warn me away from Betazed, we're about to move forward in bringing them into the Federation -- he's not getting his way, and he's angry." And they had not seen Q angry really, and he had a sick feeling about how this would play itself out.

Deanna had a stern, thin-lipped expression of disapproval. But she said, "You're still hungry. What would you like to eat?"

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been crazy here. Work has me slammed to the mat. Haven't even been writing much, where my usual is at least a few paragraphs per day, more often a few pages... Hoping to get back on a weekly update schedule.
> 
> Babel was variously described as a planetoid or a planet. I'm compromising and making it a Starfleet installation on a planetoid, sort of a starbase.

"How are you sleeping?" Beverly asked.

Jean-Luc kept the sigh to himself. That was one of those questions he had gotten from the counselor each session, for two weeks, and he still got it from the medical staff. He wished he didn't understand so well why it was asked. This was hopefully his last doctor check for this round of recovery. He'd stopped dreaming about Borg, or other odd things that he wondered if they were residual from intense contact with the powerful hive mind of Betazed.

"Better. I only woke up once last night, due to accidentally being kicked in the ankle."

Beverly's professional face remained intact, though her eyes suggested she really wanted to laugh. "And the appetite?"

"As normal as ever." Historically, he tended to lose it under stress, and eat well in normal circumstances.

She picked up the hypo from the tray to her right. "Anything I should be aware of that you aren't mentioning?"

"If there is I'm not aware of it either. Is it just me, or have you asked me these questions before?"

"Oh, Admiral, we've honestly got to stop meeting this way," she quipped, with the lilt and the smirk that said sarcasm. She applied the hypo to his arm, below the short sleeve. "Go forth and be as active as you like. I'm clearing you for duty, and to start working on physical fitness again. I think you've gained a few pounds."

"Thank you, Doctor," he said with a smile.

"And yes, this was that shot. Have fun on the bridge. We're ready to go when you are, here in sickbay." Beverly was on her way to her office before he left the biobed.

He returned to quarters. Deanna was waiting for him on the couch and smiled as he came in. "Did she fix your ankle?"

That was a tease, as there was nothing wrong with it; her toes had bounced off it without a scratch. He went to the replicator and returned with his usual midmorning tea, to sit with her. She set aside the book she was holding -- one of his antiques, a bound copy of Kant. She had been working through philosophy and understanding the underpinnings of humanity as it currently existed.

"Father contacted me while you were in sickbay. He decided to stay with his brother." One of the many details they had been hoping to settle before the ship left McKinley. Ian had been debating what he wanted to do. Deanna had spent several days over the past couple of weeks with her family on Earth, with her father. The changes they were making were of the less immediate, more considered kind. He had decided the admiral was correct, and opted for the promotion after all. And now that he'd taken that step he found himself thinking about things that could happen, now that he was able to establish a home on Earth.

But at the moment they still had a mission to occupy them. "I'm glad he finally made a decision. We're about to leave orbit. Beverly cleared me for duty, finally."

Deanna's happy smile was one of many she'd given him over the past week. It was good to see her finally returning to her confident, happy self, adjusting at last to her new home. "Good," she said, rising to step around the end of the coffee table. "I told Daddy we might leave today. You've been so much better than before. We should celebrate."

"I suppose." It wouldn't hurt to indulge her, anyway. He still did not care for parties. "I'm going to put on a uniform and order the ship on its way. Want to come along?"

"Commander Riker told me that civilians don't typically spend time on the bridge."

"You are a member of the Diplomatic Corps, and therefore not a civilian. I'll be right back, I need to change."

But she followed him into the bedroom, and sat on the end of the bed watching him put on the uniform. "I suppose space stations and Starfleet installations are not ideal places to shop?"

He shot a look at her before pulling the undershirt over his head. "You could say that. I take it you've enjoyed the shopping trips?" She'd been going with Beverly or Tasha, in between visits to her father and his family. The pantsuit she currently wore, a burgundy with squared shoulders, had been one of the things she'd brought back with her.

"I have. It's not something we do on Betazed. Betazoids definitely have less variety in clothing."

He turned as he fastened the jacket and went to the dressing table for the bars. The promotion ceremony had been at Command, well documented and no doubt destined to become a lead story in the press, in the ongoing news cycle he usually ignored. He fumbled with them a little; after having had decades of putting pips on his collar, the bars felt odd. A hand on his arm brought him around to look at Deanna. She reached up and put the bar in place for him, the tips of her fingers brushing his neck above the collar.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Anything else you want me to do for you?" she said, a sly little smile playing on her lips.

"I think I could come up with something."

"But you just put this on," she said, brushing a hand down his jacket.

"Come on," he said, putting a hand on her back. "You can tease me later."

As the lift opened on the bridge, he experienced a wave of emotion -- leaving spacedock with the 1701-D had been similar, he'd come back to Starfleet with the conviction he had always had, as well as hope and excitement. Exploration was his primary focus, and he'd hoped that there would be peace and the continued advancements he had always been confident that humanity would make. The Cardassian war and continued standoffs with the Klingons had set them back somewhat, he thought, and hopefully Starfleet would be able to refocus, once there was some lasting truce with both. He paused there with the bridge he no longer could call his own before him, the familiar officers focused on their panels, though some of them were at new stations.

"Jean-Luc?" Deanna mumbled, standing next to him at the top of the bridge while he hesitated. 

"Just thinking," he replied softly. And then the moment was over -- Worf, standing to their right at tactical, noticed them and announced the admiral on the bridge.

Deanna was startled and stiffened out of reflex, standing next to him. Jean-Luc came to attention as everyone rose to their feet and faced the top of the bridge. He hesitated, but shook himself out of it quickly.

"At ease," he said loudly enough to carry across the bridge. It was about the same size as their old one, but somehow less welcoming, he thought. Darker mostly because the many consoles and wall panels were black, and the carpet was a basic dark gray. That Starfleet had been in a rush to deploy such vessels was obvious; the Galaxy class had been given more attention to decor. He descended to the left, down to the middle of it all where the new captain of the  _Enterprise_ stood waiting for them. "Good morning, Captain."

Will grinned, but sounded just as formal. "Good morning, Admiral." Behind him Tasha was doing her best to be formal, straight-faced, but she too was happy about the current arrangement. 

"It appears we're stuck with each other for a while," Jean-Luc said, glancing around. Data was still at ops -- Wesley was, he knew, somewhere else at the moment but also in operations now. There was a new ensign at the helm. "How do you feel about a little diplomacy?"

"Sounds better than another battle," Will exclaimed. He already knew what they would be doing, but the usual formalities were being observed. "We are at your disposal, sir."

"Set course for Babel. We're to meet the Cardassians there in two days." Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna, as she came to stand with him. They'd discussed this already with the admiral, and also over dinner for the past few nights. After talks with the Cardassians they would be making an attempt to approach the Klingons. Another delegation was already on its way to Betazed; the Diplomatic Corps had taken their suggestions to heart and sent some friendly telepaths.

"Mr. Worf," Will said. "Contact the station. Notify them we're ready to depart."

The launch process wasn't immediate, and Jean-Luc sat down in what would have been his station on the bridge, had he retained captaincy. Deanna settled in the chair to his left, which was usually assigned to the doctor when she was present on the bridge. They listened while Data reported on the ship's progress in untethering ship's systems from that of the starbase. Will stood in the center of the bridge and seemed to be enjoying the process -- of course he should.

"Everyone is so excited," Deanna said at length, as they listened to Geordi's voice over the comm as he pronounced the warp engines online and ready to go.

"Of course they are. It isn't every day an officer gets to be aboard a starship for its launch, let alone the _Enterprise_."

 She still didn't quite understand the sentimentality about the ship, but smiled at him. "Such affection for an inanimate object. It is exciting, to be going on a mission, just the same."

That made him nostalgic in a different way -- it led him to remembering his own first mission on his first starship, and he smiled with her at the thought. She wondered what those feelings were about, and he knew that because she often slipped into his mind now. So he shared the memory with her, and she shared her apprehension about the possibility of making mistakes, not in the diplomacy but in representing the Federation. It was another thing she'd been working on, acquainting herself more with Federation policy and law.

"I'm glad you're going with us, on the first mission out," Tasha said from her seat -- as first officer she now assumed the station to the right of the captain's chair. Jean-Luc turned to look at her with a nod.

"It should be an interesting few months. We have been given difficult tasks," he replied.

"We've done impossible. Difficult should be pretty straightforward," Tasha said with a smirk.

"True," Will said, half-turning to look at them. "I anticipate we will get done early, and have time to take some leave on Risa."

"I appreciate that you all have such reasonable expectations," Jean-Luc said wryly.

"All systems are operational and we are ready to exit McKinley Station," Data announced. 

"The station has given us permission to disembark," Worf put in. 

"Mr. Whitson, take us out, half impulse," Will exclaimed.

On the viewer the station's doors were parting already. They grew ever closer as more and more stars came into view. Then it was full impulse, once they were floating free in space, and the ensign navigated out of Earth orbit gracefully, while smaller vessels swung by them. There was, as had been the case during the launch of the 1701-E, an awe settling on the bridge as everyone divided their attention between the viewer and their panels. 

Jean-Luc smiled when Will ordered warp speed.

They were sailing through the stars at warp four. The war with the Cardassians was over. The Borg had been disbanded. He glanced at Deanna, sitting at his side and serenely watching him with a warm smile, and thought that it might be perfect, if not for the thought of Q, scowling.

There had not been a hint of Q since his disappearance last week, and it was definitely a cause for concern. He tried not to anticipate but it was difficult. Q hadn't been much more than a nuisance, overall, but he had to wonder if finally angering the entity might change that.

"What's wrong?" Deanna murmured.

"I have this feeling," he replied, and turned at a terse exclamation to set a red alert from Will. There was a familiar grid on the main viewer. Of course. 

"All stop," the ensign at the helm said, in response to Will's order.

Will turned around with crossed arms, wearing a sarcastic smirk. "Deja vu?"

Jean-Luc sighed, and waited. The new officers were looking around the bridge -- Data turned from his console to look at them. "Curious."

"Indeed. Q doesn't usually delay in his mockery of us," Jean-Luc said.

"This is Q?" Deanna asked. She pointed at the screen. "He's doing this?"

"You can't sense him? This is what he did to us at the beginning of the ten year mission with the 1701-D. Stopped us in space this way. Threatened us, toyed with us, and when we passed his test, he let us go." Jean-Luc saw Will nod out of the corner of his eye.

Deanna studied the screen and seemed to drift off, her attention turning inward for a moment. "What would happen if you continued forward?"

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow and glanced up at Will. Data helpfully put in, "The barrier does register as a solid object to our sensors, Ambassador."

"But ships have shields in place - and weapons would vaporize a solid object," she replied. "Or am I misunderstanding?"

 It was amusing, how that led to a hesitation. Will glanced at Jean-Luc, who raised an eyebrow and smiled. Will turned to look at the viewer again, turned back to nod to Worf. "Remember what we did before? Got anything else to throw at it?"

Worf's pleasure was evident in his voice. "Yes, sir."

Will faced forward again. "Ensign, after the first salvo I want maximum speed -- let's get around it if we can."

The quantum torpedoes made a light show against the barrier -- startling to see that it made no impact, given the specifications of the weapon, which had been designed with the Borg in mind. The ship moved off as Will had directed and unlike the first encounter with Q's barrier, there was no pursuit. The barrier simply continued onward, as they ran in parallel to it.

"If we continue this way we'll be days off course," the helmsman exclaimed.

Jean-Luc glanced at Will, then at Deanna - he found she was lost in thought. Perhaps communicating with someone, he guessed, but she had her eyes closed and bowed her head. He watched her until she opened her eyes.

"What is it?" he murmured, focusing on her rather than the order Will was issuing.

 She turned to him and he saw at once that glassy-eyed look she'd had before when communing with Betazed. Concerned, he waited and then was surprised to hear Will putting them back on course.

On the viewer, the barrier was now gone.

Everyone stared for a few seconds. Tasha quietly canceled the red alert.

Jean-Luc spent a moment in shock, at the sudden, anti-climactic resolution of the problem of Q. He whirled back to stare at Deanna. She was also looking at the viewer, and turned back to him with wide eyes. The glassy look was gone. He was tempted to ask what happened but thought it was not a conversation for the bridge.

Rising, he automatically tugged his jacket straight and faced Will. "Now that we are under way, I'll leave the bridge to you, Captain."

Will nodded curtly. It was clear he was still suspicious of how uneventfully the situation had resolved. "Thank you, Admiral. We will of course notify you if anything of concern develops."

Jean-Luc headed for the lift, and Deanna was close behind, without a word.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So do you suppose the Q are the only omnipotent game in town?
> 
> If such critters exist, it's likely that they don't care to be known. And why would they, except when they want to be?

Deanna knew he would ask. The lift was silent, and he was thinking - it wasn't hard to read and understand his emotions now. He was like many of the humans she'd met but sharper, more intuitive, questioning everything. She knew he would be this way from her first few days with him. 

She watched his face, and when he looked at her at the conclusion of his internal debate, she smiled. It led to a momentary hesitation, but didn't completely distract him. "What happened on the bridge?"

"I asked for help," she said. 

"From Betazed?" 

She inhaled deeply, bracing herself for whatever would come. "From the Continuum, as I believe you refer to it."

Her reward was his startled, sharp look, and he took a moment to appraise her. "You asked the Continuum for help?"

"I was not aware of how Betazed moved the planet, before. But when I inquired about the Q, I was informed that Betazed has known about them for several thousand years, and that contact with the Continuum has not always been peaceable. However, in the past centuries a truce of sorts was made - they assisted when the planet relocated from its prior location. There's been no contact by agreement for some time, but Betazed helped me -- I'd explained that I had seen a Q, and I was instructed to contact Betazed if one were to appear again. I consulted, and was assisted in making direct contact with the Continuum, to appeal to them on the ship's behalf. Because I am Betazoid the Continuum agreed and -- I believe the expression is 'reined in' the individual causing the problem?"

The door opened but neither of them moved. Jean-Luc was staring at her, awash in the surprise and awe she'd sensed from him before. "You told him to go away," he said at last, sounding dubious.

"Essentially. There would be consequences from the rest of the Continuum if he bothered Betazed." Deanna stepped out of the lift, heading for their quarters. He followed.

"Betazed has a _truce_ with the Q," Jean-Luc exclaimed.

Deanna went to the replicator. "A non-aggression pact. Would you like something?"

"No, thank you. What else have you found out about the Q?"

She took her tea cup to the couch, and waited for him to join her there. "Do you honestly want to know?"

He sat and crossed his legs, and looked at her expectantly. Radiating a driven sort of curiosity she'd sensed from him before, and she knew he continued to feel ire toward Q. It was clear the entity had not been so circumspect with humanity as it had with other species.

"Why do you feel this way about Q? Why so much anger and alarm?"

She could tell he felt impatient -- he sighed audibly. And settled himself, before he spoke to her with care not to sound impatient. "Because Q, the specific entity we encountered, he takes a special delight in wasting our time. He's annoying and condescending for no reason. And now I worry that he might become dangerous to us. I suppose this is why he was so furious the last time he was here -- he knows his interference will be noticed by the Continuum."

"But you still worry?"

"With humans, sometimes the most dangerous people are the ones who are narcissistic. I think it's the same with Q. He apparently was punished by the Continuum before. He flouted their authority to interfere in the affairs of lesser beings, and I don't know that he hasn't continued that practice and won't come back to take out his anger on us. The Continuum won't deal directly with us, and we have no way of knowing when they might step in. Before, or after he destroys us all."

Deanna calmed the anxiety she had; it didn't take much from him to cause her such a disturbance that she probably showed it in her face. "I don't think he will do that, Jean-Luc."

He was frustrated again, and she knew better than to think it was because he didn't trust her. She'd thought that at first but was learning that humans, especially Jean-Luc, would question until they had verification. "How do you know that?"

"I was assured that he would be dealt with," she said, sipping her tea.

Jean-Luc sat silently and continued to be frustrated.

"What is it?" she asked at last.

 He had been like this a number of times. Frustrated by something, curious, but refraining from talking about what was bothering him. Usually he brought up something else, or continued to speak about whatever they'd been discussing. But he silently thought about it and seemed more disturbed than usual.

"Have I done something wrong?" she asked at last.

"Not at all," he exclaimed, turning to her at last. "I want to talk about something but I don't know how to approach it." He usually had no hesitation to tackle difficult subjects. She started to worry, and it must have shown in her face; he tried to smile at her, reached for her hand, and shook his head. "I think sometimes you don't explain everything, and it's hard to tell why. You can be vague and I don't understand if it's because you don't want me to know, or if you don't know. Or if you've been instructed to be vague. Or if -- "

"I'm sorry," she put in at last. "I didn't realize. It's difficult to explain... I'm trying to adjust and assimilate what I've been told recently, myself. Sometimes I wonder whether it's something you really want to know, or if it's important for you to know. And there are some things I know that Betazed would rather not be shared. If you ask I can try to answer whatever questions you have? I suppose this is about Q?"

"Among other things. If you think anything would be helpful for the mission, if there is information about Q that might help us deal with him if he comes back.... I haven't wanted to ask much because I don't want to question."

Deanna knew he understood how difficult it had been to adjust. "I appreciate that. It's all right to question me, Jean-Luc. I may not be entirely at home, but I'm not fragile."

"I understand. We haven't worked together yet, though. We've talked about how to approach the Cardassians. I followed your lead when we went to meet them before. And I'm starting to question some things that I was not anxious about before, but haven't wanted to mention because I thought it might cause problems."

"What problems would it cause to express concern? What do you mean?"

He ruminated over that for a few moments, staring at the cup in her hands. "I wonder if you have doubts about us."

"I do have doubt, but not about your commitment to me." She raised her hand, still held in his. "I know you were worried that I would be able to adjust. You wanted me to make friends with others for that reason." He had approved of her spending time with others, and despite her misgivings and hesitation she had found that he was correct. It had helped, to talk to Beverly more. To spend time in the gym with Tasha, learning how to spar. She felt more at ease aboard the ship than she had initially. 

"Yes. I also wondered if you might change your mind about committing to me."

She frowned. It caused him pain to say it, and it almost seemed as though he expected it to happen. What a life he must have had that he still expected to be abandoned. Of course, it was also likely that he expected her to be more human. "I don't think so. You haven't given me any reason to."

"Sometimes that isn't the reason. Sometimes people simply change, and it would hardly be unusual after a change of residence, or career, or any other massive alteration in one's life, to decide you have different priorities."

Deanna leaned forward to put the empty teacup on the table, then moved closer and leaned against him, head on his shoulder. "I have changed. I never intended to be with anyone, at any point in my life. I don't intend to go back to being alone."

His response was to put his arms around her and settle back on the couch, and relax. "You never thought you would find anyone?"

That was a slightly different way of saying it. But he wasn't wrong. "I thought that being a hybrid meant that, yes."

He sighed heavily, and she caught the thought -- when he was upset it could disrupt her ability to do that. He was remembering that she had been upset, after meeting him and believing that he was the one. He still thought that meant she'd chosen to be with him, but did not completely comprehend that either.

She thought about him, and everything she liked about him, rather than dwell on the fact that her attempts to commune with him telepathically had been limited by the structure of his brain. Betazed had already informed her that she would likely be unable to connect with humans fully. It had been attempted before, and her mother's memories were still in the collective memories for her to see -- Lwaxana had tried, with Ian, to achieve the oneness of any Betazoid pairing. As receptive as he was, she had not been able to use telepathy to help him understand everything. The moments of connection with Betazed that he had experienced had made an impression -- but in the days that followed, she'd seen the changes settle out, and now he seemed to be much the same as he'd been before, with perhaps a broader perspective but without the clarity she'd expected.

Perhaps Betazed was correct and he did not have the right brain structure to retain the information passed to him. She wondered, after reading about human neuroscience and discussing it with Dr. Crusher, if he might be repressing it. Perhaps the volume of it was more than his conscious mind could process.

It was no matter - she loved him, whether he completely understood her or not.

"If you want to know all that I know about Q, I can tell you," she murmured, despite knowing it would disrupt this moment of peace. Humans required information and transparency, to trust. Betazoids simply noticed whether or not one was trustworthy.

He tensed, as expected. But he waited.

"You think of Q as a person, because he presents himself to you as one. You knew that was likely the case. You know that he seems to have infinite power, but that is an illusion. The Q are instigators. The memory of Betazed remembers them, from many centuries ago, when the collective minds began to connect. The Q enabled them to do so, pushing us toward that unity we were beginning to achieve. Sometimes they come to a species as one of them, to begin change. Sometimes they come as an entity as they did to you, in a way they calculate will effect the most rapid change. He bothers you in a manner that drives you to act on something. Sometimes, they want a species or an individual to act against another, to maintain stability in the galaxy."

"They manipulate people," Jean-Luc exclaimed, radiating disapproval.

"Only when they see the need. The Continuum is simply the universe acting as it will. You see individuals, but they are more unified than Betazed."

"But -- "

He hated being manipulated. He also believed that the human race had evolved as it had and could continue to progress on its own. That the Q were clearly different -- the type of entity that would be considered gods, by less evolved species, a collection of advanced minds with a more comprehensive perspective that included explicit detailed memories of the origins of the galaxy they were in -- didn't matter to him. He felt that the Q should leave them be, just as the Federation should observe their own Prime Directive the majority of the time. But she had examined his Starfleet record, knew he had violated the directive in the past -- there were exceptions, the admirals had said as much when she was asking questions of them about regulations. He knew there were occasions when intervention was necessary.

"You are saying that the Q Continuum is the universe?"

Deanna smiled, at the confusion she'd caused. "There are those who see the universe and the span of time as a whole. Their existence spans a reality that most of the people living here see only tiny pieces of -- we experience time as linear, and see only specific bands of light, specific segments of the greater universe. In the Federation, or the Cardassian Union, power and influence are perceived in social terms. For those with the ability to manipulate the elements of which the universe is made, power is a crude tool used to push the growth of species from presentient to sentient, to more sentient and less primitive. It is a means to an end."

"What end?" he asked.

"Everyone has potential. Helping some of the species meet that potential can further the progress of the universe toward unity."

"You were told by Betazed that the Q are causing disruption in the galaxy to push species toward unity," he summarized, still uncertain about whether he could believe this.

He had been told as well, during the confrontation with the Borg. He had been part of the Betazoid overmind. But still didn't remember, as he hadn't remembered everything about the Borg until he had been a conduit to the Collective. She'd understood, as Betazed had, that accessing the Collective in order to stop it was causing harm -- they had accepted together the potential of dying as a result of the effort to neutralize the Borg. Being connected with the Collective had given her insight into how they had come to be -- an accident, with a species in another quadrant experimenting with nanotechnology that went wildly out of their control. The Q had nudged other species into place attempting to balance and failed, as the Borg assimilated and adapted faster than their neighboring species were able to compensate for, and so the ever-adaptable and resourceful humans had made a good effort. 

But bringing it to Betazed's attention had resulted in bringing it to the attention of the Q and others of similar evolutionary states and then the consensus had been to dissolve the Collective, as it was obvious that the programming would continue to move forward in assimilating everyone. It was, she knew, not that Q did not understand the Borg, it merely took making the other luminaries being aware as well to make them interested in doing something about it. Part of the conversation had been shared with her. The Q hadn't been malicious in exposing the Federation to the Borg, but had not been stepping in yet when it became obvious there was no way balance could be restored that way. 

"The Federation is motivated to keep peace and preserve. The larger perspective seeks balance, and acknowledges that growth sometimes requires conflict." Deanna sat up to look at him, and smiled. "You said yourself that your own life would not have been the same without some very painful experiences."

Jean-Luc nodded, thinking about it. "But to seek it out deliberately.... You think Q had good intentions," he exclaimed. 

"You said yourself that he hadn't actually hurt anyone."

"He isn't trustworthy."

"Then he deceived you?"

It set him to thinking again. "Not exactly," he admitted. "But -- unity? Q excels at discord and chaos. Nothing about him suggests he enjoys anything but causing us grief." 

"There are many different paths to the same end. Do you imagine that approaching the Klingons as if they agree with the tenets of the Federation will be successful?"

That took him aback for a moment. "No. But Q is not approaching us as if he's human, he's not being diplomatic at all."

"By your standard. I imagine what it must have been like for humans and Tellarites."

That brought a smile at least. "Have you met a Tellarite?"

"I have. When I was on Earth, at Command, the Tellarite ambassador stopped in to ask the admiral a question. It was an informative meeting."

He regarded her with fondness, as usual, and then started to think again. "You're telling me in several ways that you think my anger at Q is not warranted."

"Not at all. That particular aspect of Q appears to have a reputation for frustrating and angering people. But I hope you are able to see it for what it is, rather than what you've believed it to be. I think if you responded to him as if it were a favor, the behavior might change."

That caused a hard blink. "Because... the behavior is designed to elicit a particular response. Which he does, very well. But I've told him before, we do fine on our own. We don't need his help."

"You don't have the same perspective," Deanna said. "Nor do I. When I am with Betazed, I have a broader sense of the universe than I do without. My position in the galaxy is clearer, relative to what I sense of the overmind."

That lost him. It was unfair, having to use Standard. It sounded as though she were describing physical locations rather than the hierarchy of luminaries. He tilted his head to the right, considering the statement. "The overmind?"

"The greater life force of the universe -- the intelligent, aware, and omnipresent collection of minds that have transcended this level of reality. They are on a different plane than the collected minds of Betazed. Telepathy isn't what we use to connect to them. I have a very vague sense of them unless I'm connected to Betazed."

"So what do you perceive about us, when you are connected? Do you agree with Q that we require his intervention?"

She sighed, thinking about his concession to Q that led to bringing the  _Enterprise_ back from Borg space. And the effort to disband the Collective, partially orchestrated by Q. And, also, about incidents that Jean-Luc did not know about - which Q would be vexed about, should she fully inform him. 

"Humanity exists as it does now because of the Q," she said simply. "You don't understand that yet, nor do I, completely. I was told that there have been key incidents in the past that Q stepped in to mitigate? Something about an asteroid, for one."

"There have been more than a few extinction events in Earth's history. So Q tells you that he kept humanity from extinction?"

She shrugged. "Not me. Q cannot lie to Betazed. It doesn't matter, Jean-Luc. Q will leave us alone."

"I suppose." Still the curiosity remained. He was quick to set the matter aside then, however, which told her there had been enough explanation for now. "We have some time before arriving at Babel. What would you like to do?"

"I would like to indulge myself in whatever way my husband sees fit." She understood that might mean something she did not entirely enjoy, like the holodeck, but she would be with him. It would be enough for her.

"We should go for a walk," he said. "I haven't seen engineering yet."

"Of course," she said at once. They would talk to Geordi, and possibly others. He did like his ships, and while she conceded that it was useful to have them, they were as inert as rocks and not something she found interesting.

"And we can see if the arboretum is anything like the one on the last _Enterprise_. I know you don't care for starships."

They rose and left their quarters, and headed for the lift again. She took his hand as they walked.

"You agreed to a specific list of negotiations. Does that mean you want a finite career as a diplomat?"

She smiled at that. "I might. It depends upon the outcomes of those negotiations. I would like more than that, it's true. It was pointed out to me by my aunt that I would be an excellent animal trainer. She wanted me to come work with her. She believes that I would be able to streamline the training process with the horses."

"That is an intriguing idea," he said, walking into the lift with her.

"I wondered if you would like it." They did, after all, have many things in common. "When we get back from the arboretum, can we discuss the book?" They had been reading some of the books he identified as Terran classics. The latest was something by Jonathon Swift. Whoever that was.

"We can discuss whatever you like."

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has actually been rewritten multiple times due to computer issues and power outages - it gets even slower to post things when the computer abruptly quits. Fun times.

The morning they arrived at Babel, Deanna left Jean-Luc on the bridge and went to select something to wear. A bright green dress reminiscent of outfits she'd worn on diplomatic endeavors for Betazed was her choice. She had dealt with the Cardassians before often enough that she knew appearances meant something to them. 

While she was standing in front of the mirror adjusting the drape of the long panel of fabric, the computer announced someone requesting entry. She left the bedroom and greeted Beverly at the door.

"I was going to come to sickbay," Deanna said. The doctor held a tricorder. There would be a pre-mission medical check as well as a post-mission.

"I decided to come to you. How have you been? Haven't seen you since the launch," Beverly said, holding up her scanner.

"Everything has been as one would expect -- we've done the best we can to prepare for meeting the Cardassians."

Beverly stopped scanning and seemed on the verge of speaking, but stood looking at her with concern in her eyes.

"You are worried that it won't go well? Is this on my behalf, or his?" Deanna smiled at her.

"You know his history with Cardassians. You know we just had a war with them as well. I'm a little anxious, yes."

"We won't start another war." Deanna adjusted her dress as the long wrap from her right shoulder to her left hip had come loose, and glanced back at the doctor. "At worst they will reject what we offer, and leave."

"I'll hope so."

"There must have been too many standoffs and skirmishes for you," Deanna said softly. "Too many friends who were injured?"

Beverly's half-smile confirmed it. "They have been deceptive before. We were ambushed by them a few times."

"I believe this time will be different. Will you be on the away team?"

"No. I'll be on standby in sickbay. I'll see you when you come back aboard." Beverly felt better when she left than she had coming in. 

Deanna turned for the bedroom door, and froze -- there was a man standing in the room who had not been there before. She could not sense him, and supposed that it must be the Q that her husband was so upset about. It looked like the same man, but he wore a black unitard, rather than the uniform he'd worn before.

"What can I do for you?" she asked. 

That seemed to shock him. "Do you know who I am?" He took an arrogant, almost demanding tone.

"One of the Continuum, I would guess, since the others tend not to take physical form." Hinting that she understood more about him than humans did was a guess at what might be successful in setting a more equal playing field. "What is your name?"

"I am Q, of course," he exclaimed, with a flourish of his hand. "I'm sure your dear hubby told you all about me."

Deanna smiled, in the most innocuous way she could manage. "Not really. He's expressed some annoyance that you seem to want to interfere in his life."

"He's been interesting, but lately it feels as though he simply takes me for granted," Q said, as if that was not so concerning. Which likely meant that it was. It also implied Q felt he had a very different relationship with Jean-Luc than Jean-Luc did. It was odd, not being able to sense anything from Q.

"Perhaps you should find someone else upon which to lavish your attentions. Someone more inclined to enjoy your unique personality."

"Oh, pish. You can't tell me he doesn't enjoy our little games." Q smirked at her as if he'd won a game already. 

"I'm given to understand that the Continuum has a broader perspective than you are demonstrating. I have to wonder if you are actually part of it." Deanna turned and headed for the bedroom. "I think you are playing the game, and he is wanting to be left alone."

When she got through the door he was there ahead of her standing in the middle of the room. "And what do you want, my little croquette?"

Ignoring the unfamiliar term, Deanna picked her brush from the dressing table and started to brush out her long hair. She'd had the long curls trimmed back, so it was less work to put it up, but it was still shoulder length. "Nothing you can provide, thank you."

When he was silent for a few minutes, she turned to find him watching her intently. She continued to brush her hair and stared back at him, until she needed the mirror again to put a gemstone-encrusted band around the bun she created on the crown of her head. 

When she turned again, he was gone. She sighed. The door opened, and Jean-Luc entered. He looked her over approvingly and nodded. "Will is waiting in the transporter room. You look wonderful, Ambassador."

"Thank you, Admiral. Are we ready to go?"

She walked with him, spent a moment tapping into the overmind while riding in the lift -- the response from Betazed was immediate. There were positive feelings about the new Federation delegation, and she smiled as her replacement, Onara, shared the outcome of conversation with the Federation ambassador. It took another moment to relay the encounter with Q, and knowing that would be passed up into the overmind as well, she smiled serenely as she left the lift with Jean-Luc.

"You look like you are thinking of something wonderful," he muttered as they approached the transporter room door. 

"I prefer to enter the room in a positive frame of mind. For some species, it sets them at ease. With Cardassians it makes them wonder what we are up to," she said, taking his arm. "It gives them the impression we are confident -- which leads to thinking that perhaps we are approaching them from a position of strength."

"I'm sure that will help us. I've had some difficulty with maintaining such a demeanor, however that may change -- with the eradication of the Borg and the cease fire with the Cardassians, I'm very hopeful about the near future."

The space station was built around an asteroid in the Babel system, and they were maintaining an orbit around the star in parallel with the station. After a quick word with Will, who was present to see them off, they materialized in a spartan transporter room, from which they were directed by the attendant to the conference area. In the corridor they passed station staff occasionally. Deanna could sense nearly as many people as were aboard the  _Enterprise_ and wondered how many diplomatic meetings were conducted here. The Federation was larger than she had understood it to be, to have such a facility. Or perhaps they had that many internal conflicts, that such a place was needed.

The room was already occupied by two Cardassians, both male -- they never seemed to send females. She had inquired once and discovered that the females were generally finding themselves in the sciences. It was a fairly entrenched belief that the genders were suited to very different vocations, based solely on temperament. Fortunately they seemed to regard females of other species differently.

She sensed the jolt of Jean-Luc's shock as she recognized that one of the two was the same gul who had been at their last meeting. Madred, she remembered. Rather than allow Madred to notice the dismay in her husband, she exclaimed, "Gul Madred, so gratifying to see you once again," as if welcoming an old, fond friend. "And who is this gentleman?"

The other Cardassian looked to Madred, who was staring at her as if she were horrifying to him -- he blinked, and forced a smile. "This is Legate Damar," he said pleasantly. Beneath the facade she could tell he was angry.

"I am Ambassador Troi, and this is Captain Picard," she said, approaching the long table between them and stopping behind a chair. She bowed slightly in their direction. "We are the Federation representatives." They weren't following any ritual formalities. Likely she had startled them out of that by being there. So much the better for her to give an opportunity for her to take the lead.

"I thought you were the Betazoid ambassador," Madred exclaimed. He was amused, likely thinking she had been ejected from her position.

"I accepted a position with the Federation. Another delegation is handling the Federation on Betazed's behalf," she stated with the same easy smile. "Shall we be seated?"

An attendant, one of Babel's staff, came forward with a tray to place on the table between them. Pitcher of water, glasses, a small plate of what must be food items. The man silently scurried from the room through a door hidden behind one of the varicolored draperies hung on the walls.

"I believe we should start by discussing reparations," Madred said.

That brought Jean-Luc up straight, tense and angry, but he glanced at her before speaking. She kept smiling. Thought about how she had discussed with him that they might do things that would distract or deflect, to stall and cause a failure that could be blamed on them, or the Federation.

"I believe we should start by deciding to think first about what will be best for all of Cardassia," Deanna said, turning her bright smile on Madred.

"That would be my primary goal," Damar said. "But I suspect that we have different perspectives on the matter."

"The Maquis caused much destruction along our side of the Demilitarized Zone," Madred insisted.

"I think you are perhaps under the impression that the Federation had something to do with the Maquis," Deanna put in smoothly, before Jean-Luc could respond with more ire. "It has at times been the case that the truth is sacrificed in service to winning people's support -- I have discussed the Maquis with some of the admirals and have been told that the Maquis are Federation expatriates, who abandoned citizenship to stay on worlds under dispute along the border. Some of them caused damages to Federation facilities as well. Should the Federation then expect you to do something about that?"

She asked it in the most curious way, and without ire -- because she felt no anger. So many of the officers she'd befriended, her husband among them, felt anger when talking about the war. It had been painful to talk to Jean-Luc about his experience, and Tasha had talked more about battles the ship had been in, crew members lost, colonies attacked -- there had been too many deaths. 

Madred glared at her, and Damar watched him. 

And then she had the most curious sensation that there was someone else in the room with them. She knew from the lack of a reaction from the others that there could be no one visible; someone would have looked at the person. But another moment passed, and no one wavered. Q, she thought. She'd had a brief sense of the same presence a few times before. Curious, that the entity would be lurking that way. 

"What would be best for the Cardassian people is to see our world begin to rebuild," Madred said at last. A complete sidestep from his previous topic -- that was a minor victory for her. She'd shifted the conversation successfully. 

"And what do you feel the Federation can do to assist in that recovery?" Jean-Luc said smoothly, his formal but pleasant smile in place. 

That led to another silent stare from both. Deanna could tell Madred did not like either of them but at the suggestion that the Federation would actively help them he became angry. Defensive, prideful, leading her to wonder if all Cardassians felt this way, or if the military were of a different nature, as some humanoid species were given to doing -- it usually took a different kind of individual to take on the more violent roles. 

"Whether or not Cardassia is a Federation member world by the end of these talks, I have been instructed to offer whatever assistance you may need. It's rumored that Cardassia has struggled to feed everyone. That does not need to continue," Deanna said. "And if accepting gifts of food is an affront, perhaps we might find an equitable trade to make? Ways to improve the yield of farms on Cardassian worlds, for example, in exchange for some material you may have in surplus."

Damar was intrigued. "You would offer technology?"

"The Federation's Prime Directive applies to pre-warp cultures. Replicators would help you feed your people, would they not?"

"We have replicator technology," Damar exclaimed. "But materials shortages keep the majority of the population from taking advantage."

Madred shot him a glare, which the legate found startling. Meanwhile, Deanna focused a little more, which was easier when she was not needing to respond verbally, and discovered that the presence of the Q was quite close. In fact, she suspected he was lurking in the neighborhood of the table, possibly near the Cardassians. Though the two men registered as what she thought they should be, she wondered if Damar were in fact Q.

Jean-Luc asked what shortages there were, which launched a conversation about a list Damar had brought with him. Deanna listened and tracked Madred's mood; he responded occasionally but had little to say. She could tell Damar had not been told about the history between the people in the room, as he was focused entirely on the business at hand.

After a discussion of what the Federation would do for them, Madred's ire seemed to only increase. Finally, when there was a pause in conversation while Jean-Luc poured himself a drink from the pitcher, Deanna finally asked, "Is there something wrong?"

Madred smirked. "Not at all. Being forced to accept crumbs from the Federation under duress is exactly what I expected, when you arrived."

"Under duress?" She glanced at Jean-Luc. He was equally befuddled by this.

"You're the one who caused Cardassia all the pain, are you not? Or do all Betazoids look the same?"

The tone was so disdainful it made her frown. Then the wording registered, and she scowled. "You believe that I was able to do that? But -- no. That isn't possible. I -- " She was sure that Betazed had told Cardassia exactly what was going on, telepathically. She looked at Jean-Luc, and back to the Cardassians, and a sick feeling developed in the pit of her stomach.

"Are you suggesting then that it was Capt -- Admiral Picard?" Madred shook his head and tsked at it. " _Humans_ have no telepathic ability."

"Betazed is stronger than any single telepath," Deanna said. "Betazed only steps in to prevent suffering and senseless killing. I was merely the mouthpiece of Betazed to you."

"I seem to remember something about that -- I was in my office, on Cardassia, when I felt the pain," Damar said. "I remember something, words, about warning us to stop violence toward other species."

"Do you remember the list of reasons that Betazed had for causing the pain?" Deanna asked, trying not to show her rising anxiety. Jean-Luc was wary, watching her, and she wondered if he could see it.

"I do not," Damar said. He turned to Madred. "Do you?"

"I remember excruciating pain and her ordering us to stop -- very little else," Madred said.

A momentary pause, as Deanna tried to manage her dismay and find words. Jean-Luc stepped in. "I can assure you both that the Federation is not interested in forcing Cardassia into anything. If you want to put an end to this talk, please save us all the time and inform us of that. But, we are here because the Federation is open to a treaty, to hopefully prevent future conflicts. Aside from any potential benefit to either side, we want no more war with you."

Deanna exhaled slowly and calmed herself at last. "Admiral. Perhaps we could call a recess? We should pass the provided list along to Starfleet. If there is a need for food, that means people are hungry and need it?"

"If that is acceptable to our guests," Jean-Luc said. "I must admit to being hungry myself. We've been here past lunch time."

"If what you are saying is true...." Damar gazed at the table for a moment. "If there was a message from Betazed and it was lost, it might be useful to have it in a more permanent form. A transcript. If you have one?"

"Yes, of course," Deanna said with a forced smile. It was impossible at this point to be convincing.

"We should reconvene in the morning," Damar said, watching his companion. Madred was disturbed as well but in a different way, and though the signs were subtle it was in his face. "Do you concur?"

Madred waved a hand dismissively and rose from the chair as if his entire body hurt. He was scowling as he followed Damar out the door.

Deanna sat staring at the broad viewport set in the wall beyond the table, and thought about the ramifications of Betazed giving telepathic messages, or instructing others to make peace, and then the recipient forgetting pieces or all of the message.

"What's wrong, Deanna? Are you feeling ill?" Jean-Luc was genuinely concerned and reaching out to touch her shoulder, her arm.

"We need to talk about something horrible. But I need to go back to the _Enterprise_ and work on the transcript -- it will take some time, but it will be necessary so that this effort will be honest. I can't have them assuming I am here to manipulate or dominate in any way. Or I need to step out completely and let you do it, but I won't ask you to do that alone. I know how uncomfortable you are with being in the room with them."

Jean-Luc held her hand, and contemplated her soberly. "I think I know what it is. I have wondered for a while if I am remembering everything - I know that when we dealt with the Borg, there was a lot of information flooding my mind, from Betazed. I remember some things but I also feel as though there are things I used to know, but it's all so vague now. More like a sense that something might be so, but I feel like too much is missing."

Deanna gritted her teeth for a few minutes. "I wonder how many species have forgotten and Betazed rejects them because they have not recognized that non telepathic species have forgotten what's been passed to them telepathically? And I know -- how they will all grieve that this has been happening," she said brokenly.

"Do you think this is part of the reason Betazed has been rejecting Federation membership? Have they been trying to communicate telepathically with the people being sent to them?"

"In the time I was working with the envoys sent to Betazed, no. But I think previously that was the case. And I think about -- my mother was so angry with him some of the time, and I know she -- and then I think about myself. How much my human genetics influence my own ability to retain and understand what they have communicated to me telepathically."

Jean-Luc was watching her face, leaning in, radiating concern, when she finally looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. He forced a little smile. "Let's go home. We can do something about this, as overwhelming as it feels to realize it."

They were back on the ship in the corridor outside their quarters when it came to her that there might be a connection to another problem they'd been having. She was so startled she stopped walking. 

"Deanna?"

She turned to her husband, lips pressed together firmly, and led him through their door. "I think I understand something else."

Jean-Luc came to a stop with her, and took her hand. "You do?"

"You are misunderstanding what Q has been trying to tell you."

"You know what he's been -- wait," he blurted.

"He was here -- he's been here, all this time, and I'm sure he's still here. I've sensed that presence in the usual vague way. But he manifested himself long enough to ask me what I want."

"Now, why can't I get that same consideration?"

The sarcasm made her smile. "You have it. Just because his presentation is skewed means little. He's a part of the Continuum. He's non-corporeal. He has no physicality, no context of his own to frame his message in the same manner as a human."

"You're saying that -- no, what are you saying? Deanna, you can't mean that he actually thinks he's been helping us?"

"You said that he did. You feel angry and threatened but you also know that he could turn you and your ship into atoms and disperse it into the universe, if he really wanted to do harm. You hate that he sent you into the path of the Borg and the result was assimilation, which was a horrifyingly painful experience. But if that had not occurred the Federation would have been assimilated without any defense. He's been present in some fashion all this time, Jean-Luc. He's left you to do as you would. He steps in to prompt change, just as his kind has always done, but not necessarily with an explanation or in a way you can see."

"You've suggested that, but what keeps me from completely trusting that is true would be why such an advanced species can't understand how to communicate with a less advanced one," he exclaimed. He led her toward the couch.

"I think you might be assuming that a non corporeal species has infinite awareness and infinite knowledge. I can assure you that they do not. Nor does Betazed, for all the memories and experiences they accumulate. They have a bias. You can't escape bias. Being more evolved does not make you omniscient."

They sat together and thought about it separately, until he looked up at her. "Q has been watching us for an unknown amount of time. What he does when he makes us aware of him is carefully calculated."

"That is my understanding, yes."

He went tight-lipped and glared at nothing, for a few seconds. "Then I suppose I should thank him for his help."

"You're welcome," came the disembodied response. Deanna focused for a few moments, and the wisp of a sense of Q went away.

"He was upset because you were not rejecting Betazed, or me, but you've persistently rejected him," she explained softly.

Jean-Luc exhaled loudly. "I need tea."


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Good Things is part of the history for this story. Minus the Troi/Worf moments.

"What you are saying," Tasha said, after a long silence, "is that we have a long way to go in understanding truly alien species. It makes me wonder how much we misunderstand the other species in the Federation."

Deanna shook her head and sipped tea. The senior officers of the  _Enterprise_ had gathered in the captain's quarters. Will Riker still paced back and forth, Data stood behind the chair in which Jean-Luc sat, but the rest were arranged along the couch and in other chairs in a semi-circle. They were grappling with the same thing she and Jean-Luc had been working through, trying to understand how much or how little they had misunderstood or missed information when dealing with Q, or Betazed, or others for whom the Universal Translator had been no help. Jean-Luc had finally decided to involve all of them in the conversation after Q's last appearance. Deanna had been sensing Q on and off, but unable to tell where he was specifically. 

"I think that the misunderstanding is largely one of identity, and motivations," Jean-Luc said. "Noncorporeal beings by their very nature have very different perspectives on everything, no doubt. Why would any of them be concerned with territory, for example?"

"Then why was Q attempting to join our crew?" Will exclaimed. "Out of boredom?"

"I doubt that," Deanna said. She looked at Beverly seated on her left, and the doctor met her gaze -- she'd been deep in thought.

"How are the negotiations with the Cardassians going?"

That was a departure from the conversation, but Deanna had noticed that humans tended to do that - sidestep into another subject when handling something that caused them tension. "I think it's going as well as it could. They don't completely trust us, but they are no longer angry at us specifically." The two days of verbal fencing with the Cardassians had at least led to less anger from Madred and less discomfort from Jean-Luc.

"So Q isn't a sarcastic, manipulative and malicious entity?" Will exclaimed, staying doggedly on the original topic. He stopped in front of them, and gestured with his hand as he spoke. "He's actually -- something else." They were having a difficult time understanding what Jean-Luc was telling them. Just as he'd had a difficult time accepting it, until now. Jean-Luc smiled into his tea cup as he sipped.

"He made a pathetic human, so yeah, he's something else," Geordi quipped. He exchanged a look with Data.

Deanna knew that story -- how Q had been tossed out of the Continuum and made mortal. She suspected that had been an attempt on the entity's part to understand the people he kept harassing. It was doubtful that the Continuum would alter him so radically - there was more unity in the Continuum than Q had indicated.

"The Continuum is not what that particular individual hinted it was. You are caught up in appearances," she said.

"If you know -- "

Riker's exclamation was interrupted by a bright blinding light, and suddenly she stood in a space that she knew was not bound by physical constraints. There was no floor, no walls, no ceiling, just whiteness -- yet she herself felt real and solid to herself. She looked around, and then he appeared -- the Q from before, wearing an admiral's uniform. 

"You," he exclaimed, accusing. He stabbed a finger, pointing at her across the short distance between them. "Stop."

"Stop what?" she asked, as pleasantly as she could.

"They don't need to know what you are telling them."

"You mean they don't need to know things that will reduce the impact your distractions have on them?" Deanna crossed her arms and regarded the entity with amusement. 

"It's not your place," Q exclaimed.

"I'm not telling them anything that could not be understood from their prior experiences with you. You're overstating their ignorance. Showing your own, about them."

Q snapped his fingers, and there was a bright flare of light. Window dressing, of course. But then Jean-Luc, and the others, were standing with them in the whiteness of the place Q had manufactured in their minds. All of them were shocked. Jean-Luc crossed his arms and glared at Q. No one spoke. Deanna waited -- she knew they were all as real as she, as she could sense their reactions. Somehow Q had created a joint unreality. This wasn't surprising to her.

"Well?" Deanna said at length, expectantly.

"Anything you want to say, you can say to my face," Q said. 

Riker laughed, as did a few others. Jean-Luc turned half away and looked down, not quite laughing but amused.

"As if you couldn't hear it before," she replied calmly. "I know you've been watching. It's no surprise that you wouldn't want them to hear what Betazed knows about you -- if they think you mean them well, you can't manipulate them into things and pretend you had nothing to do with the outcome."

It was odd to see him be so still. Humans would have reacted. She sensed very little from him, the usual muted impression of his presence, and perhaps he might be frustrated. Then he smiled -- more of a mockery of a smile, really. "You know nothing of the Q. Little girl."

"That would be demeaning, I suppose, to a human," she said diffidently. "You appear to believe I might be offended?"

"I could make you vanish in a millisecond," Q snapped. 

Deanna smiled again. "That would run counter to your actual goal, wouldn't it? Because Q really only acknowledge species who attain a broader perspective on the universe and its inhabitants. Not unlike the Federation's policy regarding inclusion of species who attain warp drive. An arbitrary measure, but one that ensures more equality and compatibility of mutual goals. It doesn't surprise me that you're experimenting with human emotions, pushing them around to see how they react, even becoming one for a while, as that will help you toward your eventual goal. Except to really experience what it's like to be human, you would have to spend more than a few days as one. And why would you do that? You would rather they believe what you tell them regardless of what they think you understand."

Q and their surroundings flared brightly, and abruptly they were all once more seated in Riker's living room. Another shock for them -- Tasha dropped the cup she'd been holding, which had not appeared in Q's netherworld, but the transition was so abrupt it loosened her grip. 

Deanna sighed heavily. "How disappointing."

"Confusing," Data commented, head tilted and frowning.

"Odd, for Q," Riker said. "What else do you know about him?"

"What Betazed knows, what they have told me of it anyway. If I have encountered him before myself I am not aware of it."

"Which implies that Q knows how to be among lesser beings," Jean-Luc murmured, causing anger all around. "Which could have been inferred."

"Advanced species that act like children don't impress me," Beverly said.

"That isn't what I was saying," Deanna said. "He's here right now. He's been present for days. He doesn't need to show you that he's present but I suspect that he often is."

"You can sense him here, now," Will said dubiously.

Deanna wondered what he would think if she told him all that a Betazoid could sense. Being half human had led to a general sense of unease for her, as there had been times through the years on Betazed when friends would react to things she could not sense. "I can. There is a sense of expectation and curiosity -- he's distracting to us only when we focus on him, and not on the negotiation."

"He wants us to focus on him? Or distract us from what we should be doing? I don't understand that," Geordi said.

Will crossed his arms and chewed the inside of his cheek briefly. "He doesn't want us to think he's interested in the negotiations with the Cardassians."

"He didn't want us to think he had altruistic intentions, when he sent us into Borg space," Tasha said. "At the time he was trying to convince us that we need him - saying he wanted to be a member of our crew."

"You told me that before," Deanna said. "But I don't think that what he told you was necessarily a manipulation. You seem to have difficulty seeing past the delivery to the message."

Will came up straighter and actually held up a hand, as if trying to stop her. He almost spoke, stopped himself, and seemed to have some change of heart. What he finally said sounded less emotional than it would have been, she thought. "I think it would be easier if he didn't deliberately avoid stating his real intention up front. Didn't bury it all under histrionics and lies."

"If it were so simple as that you would have understood his motives sooner," Deanna said. "He knows you are smart enough to see that. It's important to remember that the motives and the emotions of non-corporeal entities are not the same as ours. I don't know what he wants in the present, or that he wants anything. I do know he's interested. Since he has nothing to want, nothing to need, the Continuum has nothing to gain from interference -- what is he here to do?"

"Nothing," Data said. Beverly and Tasha looked up at the android. "I believe he is observing and testing. As she said."

"You don't think he's having fun with us?" Tasha asked.

"The more pertinent question is what the Cardassians are really intending to accomplish here," Jean-Luc exclaimed, with the impatience he'd been holding in check. He'd been frustrated with the prevaricating that Madred was doing. And Q was not his favorite subject, as he always felt frustration just thinking about the entity.

"That would be easier to predict. Vengeance wouldn't be unlike them," Tasha said, leaning back and crossing her arms, lounging.

"They are telling the truth about some of their people starving," Deanna said. "Damar seems most interested in actually helping Cardassia. But I believe Madred is waiting to act on some other agenda."

"That's it," Beverly exclaimed. "That's why Q is hanging around." Everyone looked askance at her. She sat up straighter, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "You said before that the Q are observing, and sometimes manipulating to nudge humanity along -- this has to be one of those critical points in our history."

"This is a critical point -- we don't need Q's presence to verify that," Will exclaimed. "And he's always been a manipulator, but color me unconvinced that it's in our best interests."

"Q stepped in to show us the Borg," Beverly went on. "He stepped in when you were shot, Jean-Luc. I think she's right. I've always thought there was more to him than his presentation -- not that I feel any differently about him than before," she added with a look at Deanna. "I think this is something more than the usual history-making event, if he's here."

"This is all conjecture, which does not help," Jean-Luc exclaimed. He'd set aside his cup and now felt resigned to the conversation continuing as it had.

"But it isn't conjecture that Q has access to all layers of reality," Deanna said. "It isn't conjecture that he is as powerful as he's represented himself to be. And it is not conjecture that he also has emotions, not entirely dissimilar to your own, but he has more control over those, just as he has over matter and energy. It is also not conjecture that the end result of all of your encounters with him have been positive - you may not like him, but he has not allowed that to change his behavior toward you. Not unlike your determination to not let your feelings about Madred affect how you deal with the Cardassians and you are still going forward with the effort to find a way to create a formal agreement for peace between the Federation and the Cardassian Union. Despite the fact that they required extreme intervention on Betazed's part to stop them, you hope the Cardassian Union will change their minds, in essence. Change their perspective, would perhaps be a better way of saying it."

That resulted in all of them staring at her, speechless, except Data -- the android nodded. "Would it be accurate to say that Betazoids are more similar to Q than they are to humanity?"

Deanna watched them all turn to her again, slowly, some of them starting to shift emotionally into understanding, awe, and some wariness. Worf, who had not spoken a word and generally regarded her with suspicion regardless, especially -- he was glaring at the floor at his feet instead.

"The general progression of species is to evolve, or to perish," she said softly. "Evolution has been slower for Betazoids out of choice. Betazed has been hesitant to move beyond this physical plane of existence, because it has been such a rewarding experience."

"You're saying... Betazoids could evolve, but they choose not to?" Riker exclaimed. This wasn't sitting well with some of them.

"Q made themselves known to Betazed many centuries ago. They only do so when a species has reached a particular threshold, where they are obviously on that trajectory rather than moving toward extinction." Jean-Luc was becoming increasingly anxious, and yet not saying anything. He was watching her with questioning eyes. Obviously he did not want to speak in front of the others. She sighed and stood up from her chair. "I'm hungry and it's nearly time for dinner. We can continue this discussion later, if you wish."

There were muttered agreements and farewells, but Jean-Luc himself said nothing, merely followed her from the room and down the corridor. The tension radiating from him continued, and she expected that it would not be an easy discussion.

But he remained silent, as they sat down in the spacious living room of their suite. He seemed to be thinking hard, and still agitated. So she folded her hands in her lap and waited, and wished she dared to kiss him, or make him laugh -- but she knew this likely had something to do with something she'd said.

At length he spoke quietly, with the reserve and dignity she'd come to expect from him. "You didn't tell me that Betazoids were so close to evolving into something like Q."

"I didn't know, until this past few days when I've been communicating with them my concerns about Q potentially interfering in this endeavor. They only give me information when I need it." She thought about asking if it made a difference in how he felt about her, but decided to wait and see.

"I had thought... when we met with the Cardassians the first time, it was what I believed might be true. When Ian told me about moving Betazed.... For a few moments I thought it might all be the work of Q. You, the situation with the Cardassians, everything up until now. He's put me through alternate realities before."

"But you decided that it wasn't Q. I'm not one of them, you know. And fortunate for me, since you don't seem to like him at all." Deanna attempted a smile at last.

"It just occurred to me, as you were explaining earlier, that his behavior would be exactly what Q might do to convince me. Act out petulance, to cause me to believe you were not part of a larger plan."

Deanna wrinkled her nose. "But the stories you and the others told me suggest that he lacks that kind of subtlety."

"They didn't tell you about my last encounter with him," he said. And then he proceeded to tell her a story of moving forward and backward through time, until he unraveled the unlikely end result of his time travel having caused a rift in the space-time continuum.

"But that isn't how time works," she exclaimed. It was obvious that the Q had done more than observe, in this case.

"I started to question, after Q was gone and I had time to think. Why it took the sacrifice of three ships to resolve the issue created by the Continuum, when they could have let it come to the conclusion and stepped in before that had to happen. Like so many things about the Q it was frustrating to know that they are powerful enough to carry out such tests and callous enough to not care about the outcome." He sighed, thinking about the memory. Shook his head and studied her again, with less concern. 

"There has always been a reason for what the Q do. That much interference is unusual for them."

"So you see why I remain dubious about the Q," he said, feeling vindicated. "Guinan warned us about them from the first -- her people have had similar experiences with them."

Deanna stared at him in dismay. Guinan had initially been concerning to her, but Jean-Luc had consistently trusted the woman so it hadn't been difficult to reserve judgment and spend a little more time talking to her. The El-Aurian had been reserved and less than forthcoming about her own history. While she gave a good appearance of being affable and friendly, even concerned, Deanna could tell that was a facade. After Q had made his appearance, Deanna had recognized the similarities between the two. Now that Betazed had given her more information than she'd had before about the species who had ascended past the physical plane, she suspected that El-Aurians were actually closer to evolving to a non-corporeal state than Betazed. There were things about Q that she sensed that reminded her of Guinan very much. It shouldn't have surprised her, she supposed, that Q and Guinan's people would be at odds. 

She thought about it further, and wondered if there might be a way to test her assumptions about Q. Perhaps the entity was merely upset about her ongoing presence and willingness to talk to them because he was jealous. And then she wondered about why he might feel that way. 

"Deanna?"

She'd been lost in thought and frowning too long. "Is Guinan still aboard?"

"No. She decided to remain on Earth. Why?"

"I wanted to ask her a question, but it's not so important. Do you have any other concerns?" 

She watched with a smile, while her husband spent a moment considering that. He had been patient, and she'd sensed a number of times that he felt anxiety on some points along the way that he had refrained from expressing. She had wondered if there might be a breaking point -- she knew he had strong feelings about situations beyond his control, Q, and certain incidents in his past. Some of his friends had questioned whether being with her was the right thing; she'd tried so hard to give him time to know her, only to have her father destroy that chance. She wished she might have been able to give him more time to do as humans apparently needed to do -- develop an understanding of her based in his own awareness of her, rather than jumping in first and having the doubts later. 

"I'm sorry that I started to doubt," he said at last. "Every time something comes up -- things that I didn't know about Betazed, and about you by association. I understand that these are things you haven't been aware of previously, but it worries me, that we might be less compatible than we thought."

The potential of loss was there, alongside his other emotions, and she had to struggle against the tears. "But why would you think that? I'm not able to do anything on my own -- I'm not even as telepathic as a full blooded Betazoid. If they suddenly decided to evolve past our comprehension, I would be left here with you."

He stared at her, utterly shocked. Mouth open slightly and speechless.

"Jean-Luc?"

"You wouldn't want to go?"

"I don't want to leave, and I doubt that I would be able to - as I said before, I'm not quite Betazoid." She reached for his hand, leaning toward him. "You're hungry."

"Yes," he said, still a bit off balance emotionally. But he rallied somewhat, enough to feel his usual affection for her. He smiled at her with a happy light in his eyes.

Deanna let herself respond to it without reservation -- gripping his hand, she beamed at him, loving him as she'd never loved anyone in her life. She knew she would have had a long, peaceful and successful life on Betazed. She knew that her father's advice had been correct; she might find that the relationship she'd launched herself into with this man might end, at any point that he decided it should, since humans did have a completely different way of initiating and conducting relationships. Humans, for all their advances from societal conflicts, remained an emotional and unpredictable species on an individual level. Reading psychological texts and studies on parenting and human childhood development had led her to the conclusion that there was still a long way to go for the species.

But, like Q, she saw that this particular human had more internal consistency and resilience than most, and more importantly, he believed in the standards and values held forth by his Federation. He knew there were inconsistencies, was not blind to human nature, but still pushed forward -- it seemed to be human nature to act as though the hoped-for eventuality were already real, and by that method, they made things reality.

It was not Betazed's habit, but the collective consciousness knew species had long done so. It was part of how the universe continued to evolve - species each had their own unique trends in how they made sense of themselves, their history and their progress toward whatever end they might come to, and it was Betazed's unique position in the galaxy that made them privy to documenting and observing that progress.

It came to mind, as she went about the mundane ritual of getting dinner with her husband from the replicator, that the day before Captain Picard had arrived at Betazed to meet with her, she had been standing on the deck at her home, watching the birds fly over the water. At that time she had been excited at the prospect of meeting people -- she'd always enjoyed meeting visitors, it was part of why Betazed had given her the job of being their spokesperson when other species came to visit.

For a brief moment she was that woman again -- it was a fleeting sensation, as her own perception of non-linear time was less acute than if she'd been fully Betazoid -- and she remembered thinking that something was about to change for her. Something had told her that life would be much more exciting and adventurous than it had ever been. Those moments happened now and again, when she accessed memories, and that had continued to reassure her at each decision point that she was on the right track. Whatever she thought about her past informed her decisions then, and so she had learned to attend to her feelings more and follow her instincts.

"I was thinking about something your father said about grandchildren," Jean-Luc said, as he used the fork to pick up a bite of something he'd called a shepherd's pie when asking for it at the replicator.

"You mean how much he wants them?" She felt a wash of joy at the thought of children -- this was new. She'd been tentative about children before. Something about this conversation told her she was remembering it from some point in the future, likely a point when they actually had children and were reminiscing. It was not unusual, she knew, for parents to reminisce often; having children was one of the more fulfilling parts of humanoid life, she'd noticed.

"He did have a point about timing," Jean-Luc said after chewing and swallowing. He picked up his glass. "If I follow the human norms for aging, if I hope to experience grandchildren of my own, it would be prudent to think about the timing of having children."

She laughed at that. "I am absolutely positive that we will find a way to do that."

He raised an eyebrow. "How would you know that?"

Deanna smiled confidently, raising her head. She knew, as he had noted, as his officers had noted, that this mannerism suggested arrogance. That human attribute she struggled to understand. She had attempted to explain that her confidence was based, not in narcissism but in awareness, but that was another thing that perhaps humanity was not quite able to see clearly yet. She'd been waiting to attempt to explain it for signs that they were able to think about non linear time. There had been hints; Data appeared to have some awareness of it, but not of the experience of it. The sensation of standing on a point and seeing past, future, present and all that connected them, was not yet part of humanity's consciousness.

She had hoped, following their moments in direct connection to Betazed and the overmind, together, that Jean-Luc would be able to remember that experience -- he had for a while, she knew. They'd had the ability to connect telepathically. But it had waned, and he couldn't remember now.

"It's just a feeling that I have," she said with a smile. "It's what you do. How do you put it? Make it so."

He laughed, and she tumbled back into the moment and joined him in happiness, fleeting as it could be. That too would be a large piece of their future together, she was certain.

"If it were that simple I would have made the treaty with the Cardassians happen already," he said.

Another surge of satisfaction and happiness - Deanna grinned at him. "It isn't that simple, I know. But I know that too will happen, because we are a good team. And they need the help."

"I hope you're right," he said, putting another bite of food in his mouth.

In the seconds it took for him to chew and swallow, and go on to say more about that, Betazed made contact with her -- flooded her with reassurance and gave her information about the progress of the delegation from the Federation was making. It seemed that this time, they might be able to manage a relationship with the Federation rather than another standoff. The telepaths, most of the Ullian, were understanding more of what they were given.

Deanna took advantage of the contact to share what she had told her friends. Betazed accepted it -- approval was irrelevant, acceptance was all that made sense as it had happened. They always accepted -- to be Betazoid was to be connected both to the present moment, and to the larger continuum of past and present. Individually they moved through the universe, collectively they had a foundational awareness of the ongoing evolution of all.

"Should we wait until we complete the diplomatic assignments we've been given, to have a child?" he asked. The question was quivering with anxiety as he asked it. It carried with it all the thought he'd put into it - he usually gave important decisions plenty of consideration. This particular subject had caused him significant trepidation.

She recognized it as the pivot point that it was, and weighed the choice while testing her innate sense of the overmind. Losing contact with Betazed entirely for that period while they were on Earth had been most disorienting. Being able to touch the course of events as a whole had always informed every decision she made, and she'd been completely lost without it. She'd never felt so adrift in her life. It had caused her to doubt every small question, and she'd clung to him as the only thing she felt any certainty about.

"No," she said firmly.

Jean-Luc stared at her across the table, letting his fork drop to his plate. He grinned.

She'd always known she would be happier in the latter half of her life. Now that she understood the possibilities and nuances of why, she knew that at long last she had arrived at that part of her life, and with the uncertainty behind her, she stood as he did, and embraced him with the confidence she felt at last.

There would probably come a point when she could explain the overmind to them fully. But not today, and not for a while -- Q was correct that it was not time.

"I love you," she said, wrapping her arms around him and feeling all of herself, past and present, in the moment. It would be one of her happiest memories, and it had been the one that sustained her for lonely years on Betazed, being the only half blood on her world, drawing her forward through the minutes and hours. She knew also that it would be part of what sustained her in the far future before her.

All the time in the world, as the saying went - not in the way humans meant it, but it applied, just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this makes sense in connecting all the preceding chapters and wrapping up the hints planted throughout in the way I hope it does.
> 
> I had a lot of trouble attempting to think as if I were able to understand non linear time... 
> 
> Time to go back to other WIPs.


End file.
